Star Trek: On the Altars of Mars
by Grand Admiral Harmon
Summary: Sequel to FE&D. Six months have passed during the Dominion War. The Terran Empire, even with it's recent victories, are hard pressed to survive as another threat, more dangerous than the Dominion raises it's ugly head. Meanwhile, the usurper Riker struggles to retain control of the Empire, as he is forced to face his own worst enemy.
1. Prologue

Note: I do not own anything Star Trek except for original ideas, places and characters that weren't in the series.

**Prologue**

"We pledge to serve the Terran Empire.

We will sacrifice everything for Ceaser.

We shall fight our enemies on Land.

We shall combat our foes in the air.

We shall clash with our adversaries in the cold of space.

We are soldiers of the Terran Empire.

Victorious from the First City to the Romulan Halls.

Vulcans, Andorians, Tellarites, Klingons and Romulans all serve.

Cardassians, Ferengi and more fear us.

We are the masters of the Galaxy.

We have never been conquered.

We shall never be conquered.

We shall always conquer.

We conquer what we see.

Hail Ceaser!

We who are about to die, salute you!"

Repeating these words to himself, the soldier pressed against the wall, sacred beyond the realm of imagination. Plasma weapons flew down the hall, striking down any soldier that dared defy them. The footsteps fell in perfect unison from their foe, a metallic "stomp stomp stomp". Phaser fire crisscrossed with the flying green plasma, and screams echoed down the hall. Some were screams of pain. Some were the screams of those who were running, scared enough not to stand against the foe.

He saw the Vulcan Lt. Commander of Zeta Squad running down the hall, and then he was hit and he sprawled onto the floor. Three more soldiers nearby, hunkering behind a collapsed barricade of boxes, were all hit in rapid succession as each rose up to return fire. Sparks erupted from blown out conduits and a smoky haze was beginning to fill the entire corridor.

But, that wasn't what unnerved him most. It was the screams that started off as quick burst of screams, and then grew softer and softer and then stopped. Not a quick gasp of pain or alarm. No, this was slower, more softer. That's what unnerved him.

A Klingon MACO, wielding a bat'leth, raced down the corridor, leaping over his fallen comrades. He bellowed as he ran, but he hadn't gone past the young soldier before he collapsed as well, falling backwards, the bat'leth flying from his hands.

Suddenly alone, the young soldier broke from cover. But he hadn't stood up before he was stabbed through the neck and he collapsed, falling face first on the ground. He couldn't see anything as his vision clouded over, but the marching footsteps continued, and the fire fight dragged on.


	2. Admiral Treason

**Chapter 1: Admiral Treason**

For all the glory of a technological based empire, when it came right down to it, they were traditionalists in many ways. This thought among others passed through his mind as he slowly walked back and forth in the maximum security facility in New Zealand. In fact, he walked with handcuffs bound to his hands and feet, a chain running between them. They never came off, even when he was dragged off to the Booth during his weekly session.

His name was Admiral Edward Jellico. Supreme military commander of the Terran Imperial Forces. Up until six months ago. Then everything had gone to hell in a hand-basket. His only crime had been not immediately pledge allegiance to a Captain who had taken over the Empire in a very sneaky fashion.

But he wasn't broken yet. It would take a lot more then torture to break his will. He would not bow before a usurper of the throne!

Sounds of footsteps could be heard and he raised his head to see if they were coming to his cell. Two Security Guards were walking up to his cell, pain batons in hand. The batons had an energy charge that was quiet painful if applied. He stood up tall and defiant as they turned off the force field that shut him off from the rest of the Galaxy.

"So what now?" he demanded, "Are you going to kill me?"

"Not if you cooperate," a voice replied, and in stepped Emperor Riker.

"Oh," Jellico said, walking over to his small stool and sitting down, "It's you. Forgive the accommodations Captain, but there isn't much in the way of luxury here."

Riker looked around the small cell, noting that stool was the only furniture in the room. Even the toilet was a mere hole in the floor with gravity sensors that would pull away the fecal matter. But beyond that, the small three meter by three meter cell was bare. Not even a mirror to look at one's self. Not even a facet.

"It's been a long time, Admiral," Riker commented.

"It'll be much longer for me to accept your rule," he snarled, "And keeping me alive won't change that fact."

"Of course," he clasped a hand to his side and reached up to scratch around the eye implant, "Stubbornness is your greatest trait. But I do not have time for your vain attempts at spurning me."

"Then why are you here?' Jellico asked, looking at him as Riker stood before him, "Let me tell you, I'm not in the mood for your games."

Riker smirked. "You aren't the one I'm concerned with," he said, turning his back on Jellico. "Even the Dominion will perish. Even now we've cut off their reinforcements and it's only a matter of time before we set up the minefield that will permanently cut them off from the Gamma Quadrant. No, I'm only concerned with one man, and I think you can help me."

"Even if I was inclined to," the Admiral rolled his eyes, "What makes you think I would be willing to help you?"

"Admiral Erik Pressman," Riker said, "Has escaped from Taurus."

Jellico's eyes widened, shocked by such news. Erik Pressman had been exiled there by Jellico for running illegal experiments with cloaking technology. Taurus was at the very edge of the Terran Empire, a single planet that had somehow been pushed out of its solar system when one of the binary stars went nova. The planet was a barren wasteland, that had been converted to a massive Prison Planet for top ranking prisoners. Jellico knew that his obedience took priority and so that's why they had kept him on Earth.

"How?" Jellico asked.

"The planet was attacked by we aren't sure which faction," Riker said, "But he was able to escape along with several other high ranking prisoners there. You and I both know how dangerous he is, and he could destabilize the Empire. Help me find him, and I will see you get a small cot to sleep on in here."

Jellico's shocked look slowly turned to a smile. And then it went into a hearty laughter. Riker raised an eyebrow as Jellico continued laughing, slapping his knee in his mirth. A few seconds dragged out as Jellico laughed hysterically.

"What is the matter with you?" Riker finally demanded, "This is no laughing matter!"

"Of course it is!" the Admiral took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, "Pressman has friendships with the High Lord of the Breen and Tholians Headmistress. He'll bring both of them into war against you! You think fighting against the Dominion was bad? Wait until you have the Tholians and Breen swooping in with their fleets!"

"You can't be serious!" Riker shook his head, "I refuse to believe you'd allow your spite for me to turn this Empire into a war zone!"

"Can't you?" Jellico demanded viciously, standing to his feet and stepping close to Riker. The guards stepped close by, ready to react if needed be. "You have thrown me in jail and overthrown the legitimate government. Sure the Empress is alien. But she is worth more than you ever are! And when they come to war against you, you shall be begging for mercy."

Riker punched him across the face and Jellico collapsed. He felt his lip had split and blood was dribbling down his lip. Riker flicked his hand to wave some of the pain aside from hitting him. He turned to the guards and said, "Give him four hours in the Booth."

* * *

"Stupid fool!" Riker shouted, storming into his chambers, Deanna sitting on the chair. "Does he really not understand what is at stake?"

"Why be concerned about Jellico?" Deanna asked, her form fitting light blue dress, which was usually a distraction for Will, wasn't working this time. "He's simply a man. Just like any other man."

Riker grabbed Deanna by the arm and lifted her up shook her violently. "He isn't just any person," he snarled, his hands gripping her arms tightly, "HIs name carries weight! I will not have him jeopardizing my Empire."

"Will," she whimpered, "You're hurting me."

Riker looked at her and pulling her in close kissed her passionately, pressing his body against hers. She seemed to melt into his arms, but then he pushed her back. His eyes stared at her with ravenous hunger. He grabbed her and dragging her to the bed threw her onto it. Her eyes looked up at him frightened, as the dark thoughts began to fill him again.

"Deanna," he said, "You will bear me a son worthy for the throne. Or there will be consequences."


	3. A Time for Healing

**Chapter 2: A Time to Heal**

Voices. Far away. Soft, and echoing. Fuzzy, laced with moments of singular clarity. Light, both bright and dark filter in the moments of conciseness. Moments of awake not guaranteeing moments of awareness.

Blinking his eyes, the light blinding his eyes, the patient awoke in the hospital room. The scent of burnt flesh rose from the room and he looked over to see a surgery in progress, a man's wounds being cauterized to keep from bleeding out all over the place. The room was spinning slightely in his head, but, at least he wasn't dead.

Slowly he pushed himself up, and grimaced as a sharp pain went up his arm. He glanced down and noticed several nasty cuts along the length of his arm, and what seemed like three inch deep chunks missing from his bicep. Well, now he guessed that there wasn't anybody to heal him up and give back his chunks.

A pair of strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back down. He could have resisted, had he had the energy. But no. The...however long he had been here had depleted his body of all energy. He leaned back in the bed and looked up at the Vulcan female nurse as she walked around the bed.

"About time you were awake," she replied, "I had hoped you would have been up earlier. So, tell me soldier, do you know where you are?"

He blinked twice and looked around. "A hospital I guess," he replied.

"Southern Bajor Permanent Military Hospital," the Doctor replied, "One of the few Imperial building the Dominion didn't destroy."

"Wait..." he held up his hand, "What do you mean by that?"

The Vulcan blinked at him, her slanted eyes making her glance look even more than the usual amount of skepticism. "The Dominion destroyed everything else of Imperial make-" she began but he shook his head.

"Imperial?" he asked, "Dominion? What are you talking about?"

A few seconds passed as the Vulcan nurse looked at his with a concerned glance. "Do you not remember anything?" she asked.

He looked down at the bed, trying to recall anything. He looked up at her and asked, "Who am I?"

* * *

"As you can see," The Doctor said, holding up the data PADD to Riker, "We simply aren't able to force her to conceive a child. There's just too much on the subatomic level with her alien biology."

Riker stood over the bio-bed, with the six-plus month comatose Empress Mallor. She had been the rightful Empress of the Terran Empire. But, due to injuries sustained during the disastrous Second Battle of Bajor, she had been sent into a comatose state, which had given him his opening. He now ruled her Empire.

"Can you create a memory-chip to give me complete control of her higher functions?" he asked, "Perhaps use her as a puppet?"

The Doctor nodded, walking through the bed to the other side and grabbing a different PADD. "It wouldn't be one hundred percent effective I'm afraid," he replied, "The Talokian mind is too complex to completely be subjected. But, more than less she would be subjected to your whims. I will need help creating the correct memory-chip."

Riker nodded. "I'll get Reginald Barclay to give you a hand," he said, "Ever since his experience with that one super race, he's been super-brainy. Might as well put him to some use."

"Here that Mallor?" Q asked, standing beside the light-blue skinned woman standing on a cliff overlooking her dream home, "They plan on using you against your will."

"And what does it matter to me?" she asked, turning and walking away from him into the palm trees that surrounded the hill, "I can stay here. Be and do whatever I want here."

Q kept on vanishing and appearing by her as she walked. It didn't matter how fast she walked, he kept close to her. He was annoying to say the least. Never giving her a moments rest. Not for almost a week now.

"You mortals always talk about being responsible," Q reminded her, "Time for you to be responsible. Your Empire needs you."

"I don't care," she said, flipping her hair out of her face, "I can do what I want here. I can't do that out there. I always have to be so proper. Even when it gives me nothing I desire."

"Would you really let that madman stay on the throne just to appease your own desire for luxury?" Q asked, "He is a madman. And his madness will wreck an Empire. _Your_ Empire. An Empire that has finally escaped the brutal path it was on. Do not think Mallor that you are simply going to be let go because you desire it."

"I will do as I want," she retorted.

"Adults are willing to sacrifice what they want for the good of others," Q reminded her, "Are you a woman? Or simply a spoiled child?"


	4. Under the Dominion's Wing

**Chapter 3: Under the Dominion's Wing**

Benjamin Sisko was tossed back into his cell, hitting the floor hard. Slowly he looked up, and what he saw made him shudder. Jadzia Dax, his lover, had been literally torn apart, limb by limb. The arms and legs and head were laid on her torso, the blood a pool that had drenched over most of the floor. Doctor Bashir's face was in his hands, crying. And in a corner, Miles O'Brian held Commander Kira, who was sitting in a state of shock.

He couldn't help them. Not in here, imprisoned like this. They would have to escape. And soon, or else they would all die. That had been made very clear to him.

"I'm sorry, Chief," he said, slowly pushing himself off the floor, "But we need you to finish those last details."

O'Brian looked slowly at him, brought out of his daze and nodded. He slowly moved back into the small space behind the wall and continued working on the relays. He wished he could console their worries, but he couldn't.

"I am sorry that you've all been stuck in here," he said, looking at the two remaining people, "But we can't allow them to break us. We simply can't."

"I just…" Bashir said, his voice shaking as he raised his head from his hands, the light glistening off the trail of tears, "Don't know how you aren't affected. Didn't you love her?"

"Of course I did," Sisko agreed, "But I can't afford myself grief. A time will come for that. But not now. Now….we have to escape."

"Haven't you got the ships ready yet?" a tall blond haired female Vorta called Minosk asked, striding into the command center of the Dominion's military forces, "They need those reinforcements in the Alpha Quadrant."

"We will get there once everything is in place," Gam'alak said, standing taller then most of his Jem'Hadar brothers. He was an Honored Elder, who had served with such distinction that they'd given him the opportunity to become the First Alpha of the Dominion. Basically he was the military commander, subject only to the orders of the Founders.

"We've been ordered by the Founders to get as many forces there as possible as soon as possible," Minosk reminded him, "Or have you forgotten that?"

"I have not forgotten," he replied, glaring at the Vorta, "But I will not waste their soldiers in a futile battle. We must be prepared to make the sacrifice of those who will die worthwhile by giving them the most amount of troops possible."

"Do you really expect the Terran Empire to give us that much trouble?" she balked, "You forget, we drove them out of the Bajoran system with little to no damage."

"And yet," Gam'alak retorted, "They have retaken back the Bajoran system. They've adapted to our ways and we need to do the same or we shall walk into a bloodbath."

Minosk glared at him for a few seconds. But, she quailed underneath his own return glare, and turning on her feet strode out. Gam'alak took pride in his victory, though it was a small one.

"I do hope you prove your worth!" she shouted back, "Or I will replace you."

* * *

The Female Changeling had no name, but sometimes she wished she did. There were millions of changelings, including a hundred that had been sent here into the Alpha Quadrant nearly five decades ago. While she loved the adoration of her people, she really wished they could call her something besides "Founder."

No, what was making her so depressed? The war's progress? No…no. Couldn't be that. She had personally chosen Gam'alak as First Alpha. And despite these setbacks in recent months, she had no fear of the final outcome. Was it the failed experiments with ketrecel white? There was a problem with some of it getting tainted. But no, the Sona were providing them with enough to last them for several more months.

No…..what was it? It must have been the Great Link. She was missing it. She hadn't been able to link with anyone for roughly seven months, ever since the war had started. That had to be it.

"Founder?" a familiar voice said behind her, "Can I get you anything?"

"Weyoun," she rolled her eyes, not turning to him, "What are you doing here?"

Weyoun 6 bowed his head slightly to her. "I am sorry," he said humbly and repentant, "But I have noticed you have been despondent as of late. I would like to help you if I could."

"No," she shook her head, "I have no need for your solid pity."

Weyoun stepped backwards but she held up her hand. "Is there not a changeling in the Klingon territories?" she asked, continuing to look up at the large Romulan Warbird symbol overlaid by the Terran Imperial emblem.

Weyoun hesitated for a second as he thought. "Yes," he said, "There is a Founder with them. Would you like me to contact him?"

Contact? How little Weyoun understood the meaning of _true_ contact. He could never understand the complete wholeness that came from the Great Link. She had forced two Romulans to have sexual intercourse in front of her, to see what it was like for solids. What she had seen had been intriguing to say the least. But, it had been a mere shadow.

"Yes," she said, "Tell him I need a conference with him. Face to face."

"Yes Founder," he bowed his head, then turning headed off to complete her commands.


	5. Escape and Alliance

**Chapter 4: Escape and Alliance**

Sisko sat strapped into the chair, his lip bleeding from the vicious backhand. His mouth filled with frothy blood (_that can't be good_) and he spat it out onto the floor. Ikat'ika, the Jem'Hadar First of the internment camp stood over him, sneering at the bloodied human. And Deyos, the Vorta in charge of the camp, sat in a chair opposite the Human Admiral.

"Admiral," Deyos shook his head, "Do you really think that you serve honor by lying to us? What we need is useful information about your species. Weaknesses, strengths, that sort of thing. The Founders need this knowledge to secure a swift victory. No need for countless brave and courageous soldiers to die in futile battles."

Sisko wasn't really paying attention. He had long since learned how to endure torture and not break. As a young man he had been captured by Cardassians when he had gone behind their lines. For three days he had undergone extreme pain as they had tried forcing the information of his mission from him. He hadn't broken then, and he wouldn't break now.

"Tell us something, anything and we will let you go," Deyos implored, "End this pain."

"Ok," he said slowly, his eye swelling shut from a punch that had got him across the face, "Something useful."

"Anything to help the Dominion," Deyos said.

"Humans use to play a game called baseball," Sisko replied.

"Baseball?" Deyos raised an eyebrow.

"But it didn't have enough violence and brutality to it, so it was replaced by Emperor Kahn, who united all of Earth after the Wars of Liberation, with American Football and Rugby as the Nation Sports," Sisko continued, "People have been known to be paralyzed in Football."

Deyos signaled his First, and Ikat'ika hit him hard across in the stomach. He doubled over, coughing as bile rose to his throat. He heard Deyos tapping the desk before him.

"You are making this quiet difficult, Human," he said with a sigh, "Are you a glutton for pain?"

_The dampening field has just gone offline,_ Sisko's sub-dermal communicator in his ear chirped, _Prepare for beam-out Admiral._

"Would you like to know something serious about Terrans?" Sisko said, straightening himself, wincing as his stomach muscles pulled.

"Anything," Deyos rolled his eyes, "Please give me some of your witty humor."

"Every Terran soldier has a sub-dermal communicator in the drum of their ears," he said.

"Really?" Deyos asked, leaning forward, intrigued, "We'll have to get a look at it."

"Our ships have a transporter system," Sisko continued.

Deyos waved his hand dismissively. "We know that already," he said.

"But this is a special one, especially for the _Defiant_-Class," Sisko corrected, "The ship if it hasn't had any crew on for a specific amount of time, three days, it'll lock onto the sub-dermal communicators and pull them back onto the ship."

"But we already have crew on the _Defiant_," Ikat'ika rumbled, "Learning all we can from it's databanks."

"However the genetic profiles of each member of it's crew is on file and it looks for them," Sisko smiled wide, "And it just waits for dampening fields to go down, to pull them out."

"How very interesting," Deyos did indeed sound like that, "However, you must admit how foolish that would be. The dampening field over this is state-of-the-art technology. You'd never-"

And before they could react, Sisko was transported out of the room.

* * *

"You alright, sir?" O'Brian asked, helping Sisko from the floor as he collapsed onto the deck.

"Don't worry about me," he shook him off, "Has the internal security grid been taken offline?"

"Yes sir," Commander Kira reported from tactical, "But it'll only take a minute or two to get back online."

"Can this ship fly Chief?"

"She's good to go," O'Brian replied, "But the doors are shut tight to the hanger-bay."

"Is weapons online?" Sisko asked.

"Yes."

"Then punch a hole through those doors," he ordered, and then pointing to Bashir said, "Doctor, don't let anyone of the bridge."

"I'll do my best sir," he replied, "But we have no weapons of our own."

"Then so it shall be."

* * *

_Why would we want to go to war against the Terran Empire?_

The question came out as a series of mechanical grunts of different pitch and tone. It was one of the most difficult languages to understand. In fact, few outside their race could understand their language. But, the man before them had long ago learned their language and wasn't about to let his talents go unappreciated.

"The Empire is currently at their weakest state," the human man replied, "First with their war against Cardassia and now with their war against the Dominion, not even to speak of the new threat about to hit their doorstep, they have lost at least two whole fleets. The Imperial Forces are cut by a fifth of their number. You can't allow this opportunity to go unused."

_Admiral Erik Pressman does speak with a sound reasoning. _The High Lord of the Breen acknowledged. _But do you really think we would venture outside our domain? We are isolationists. We do not need to go conquering. We come from the bitter cold of Breen. We are masters of what we own. We need not to conquer more._

_You got that right,_ Pressman thought disgustingly to himself. Breen very rarely got above -60 Degrees Celsius. This thought made him shudder in his very heavy weather suit. It wasn't even heavy enough to fend off all the cold.

"Let me present a question to you, High Lord," Pressman said, "What happens if the Dominion is defeated and driven back to the Gamma Quadrant?"

_The war will be over._

"But Riker will still be in power and he has stated a wish to return to the old ways," the ex-Admiral continued, "What are the old ways for the Terran Empire?"

_A barbaric Empire that conquered anything in it's path._

"The war against Cardassia was only ended to allow the fleets to return to fight the Dominion. Will he allow the Cardassian Union to remain?"

_Most likely not._

Now they had arrive at the point he had been striving towards. "And without Cardassia, who will be between you and the Empire?" Pressman asked.

The High Lord remained silent and the Breen Frozen Guards looked back and forth at each other. While they didn't speak, Pressman had spent enough time among Breen to know when they were unsettled. At long last the High Lord spoke again.

_We will consider all you have said. Now leave us for now. I shall summon you once I have made my decision._

"Of course," Pressman said. He held both hands up and pressed them to either side of his face and bowed, tilting his body to an angle as he leaned forward. The motion was the Breegaot, the traditional bow towards the High Lord of the Breen. He took two steps backwards in this pose, and then turning on his heel, straightened his back and continued on his way.


	6. Broken War Wings

**Chapter 5: Broken War Wings**

"Our offensive is ahead of schedule," Admiral Jill Hatman said with a smug smile as she sat across from her colleague Admiral Willard Ross, "We should be able to throw our fleets into the Romulan territories in two weeks."

Ross shrugged his shoulders, leaning forward in his chair, looking at the floor. "Perhaps," he muttered, "But I can't help but feel outraged that we are following an usurper. Riker is a punk kid who needs to be put in his place."

Hatman rolled her eyes. "Don't start with _that_ again," she grunted, "We should be grateful that we have a real warrior on the throne now. Instead of the peace loving Emperor's since Spock's reign."

"That's just it," Ross said.

"What is?" she asked.

Ross threw up his hands and stood up, walking towards the window of the Captain's Lounge on his flagship. the _ISS Betrayer_. He stood there, staring out into a point only he could see.

"This is wrong," he said.

"What is?" she repeated.

"Don't you find it worrisome that we are so placated and fine with the fact that Riker isn't the rightful ruler of the Empire?" Ross asked, "And yet, we immediately starting imagining he was. But it's an illusion."

"It's only an illusion if we allow it be," Hatman commented.

"But at what cost do we say enough?" he asked. He turned to her and sighed. "Maybe..." he said slowly, "Maybe peace wasn't so bad after-all. So many have died. Do we really need more to die?"

Jill Hatman stood up and walking over to him, placed her hand on the side of his face. "Shhh," she held up a finger to his lips, "Let us focus only upon us, shall we?"

She laced her arms around his neck as he slowly but trembling took her by the waist. SHe stood on her tippy-toes to reach his lips and was reaching up for a kiss. Yes...she had always wanted to do this to him.

"_Bridge to Admiral Hatman_," a voice said through the intercom, "_Your presence is requested on the bridge._"

"Can't it wait?" she demanded, her heart racing at the thought of what would follow soon.

"_No, ma'am_," young Captain Jake 'Jake-o' Sisko replied, "_It won't_."

She closed her eyes and dropped her head. "Alright," she replied, "On my way. Computer...end program."

The whole area changed, everything vanishing. Replacing the warm setting was the black and metallic confines of the holodeck. She struggled not to let tears of frustration master her. For once she had gotten the nerve to run this program, one of her own make in the _Romance_ genre, and she was now going to have to wait what sex would be like with "Admiral Willard Ross".

Within minutes she was on the bridge, and she was stepping up to her First Officer. He stood up and stepped aside, allowing her to take her seat in the Captain's chair.

"Status," she ordered.

"We've just entered the Romulan territory Ares and have come over the planet Mars," Sisko replied, "But, we haven't found anything."

"I would assume that's why you have initiated battle-stations," she replied, "Put the task force on Red Alert until..."

"Ma'am," he interrupted, "We haven't found anything."

"I know," she said, "You just said-"

"No," he shook his head, "There's nothing down there. No signs of life, no industry, no traffic. No communications. And nowhere within this whole sector of space."

"Onscreen," she ordered the Tactical officer, "And magnify the planet's surface."

And all there was were massive craters. She could see obvious wreckage, but no signs of smoke. Nothing. The sight was astounding. And a chilling sight. Mars had a population of three billion. And last scans showed at least a whole wing of Dominion ships in the area. But nothing was here anymore. Even the moon had been ravaged.

"It's like a giant hand just scooped up the surface," the Tellarite Tactical Officer replied, "Who could have done this?"

"I don't know," she said, although a thought was forming in her mind. "Record everything. Sensor data, geographical readings. Everything. And get us out of here, back to Bajor. Warp 9."

* * *

Admiral Ross loved his archaic things. Old television shows. Old works of art. And old music. He was among the few Starfleet Admirals that listened to the old masters of Terran musical achievements. Right now he listened to Tchaikovsky's _1812. _It had been commissioned by Napoleon to commemerate his conquest of Russia and the last of the Napoleonic Wars. His power had been so great, that Napoleon's France had lasted until the Cold War, when Communism had caused a collapse of the Empire, starting with the 1917 Revolution clear until 1990, when the Paris Wall came down, ending one of the greatest era's in human history.

As the Overture began, and the explosions of cannons roared, he was more than content to let his mind imagine great armies of men marching in file towards their doom, the gaudy uniforms, the elegant weapons. The death of dreams and the realization of ambitions.

The music stopped playing as a voice spoke over the intercom system, "_Admiral, the minefield is about to go_ _up_."

The minefield in question was one that used self replicating systems to continually replicate. Riker had ordered these in, and while Ross hated the man for taking the throne from him (he always believed the throne was his) Ross had to give him credit where credit was due. This _was_ a brilliant idea. Even if it meant ending any thought of the conquest of the Gamma Quadrant.

_To H-l with them,_ he thought to himself, _They can keep their Quadrant. They're more trouble then they are worth._

"Very good," he said, "I'll come up to the bridge."

It wasn't long before he was on the bridge, and he stepped down to take his coveted Admiral's Chair, which was raised behind the Captain's chair on this custom made Galaxy-Class Cruiser. An ensign handed him a PADD with that weeks casualty lists. Over three hundred had died. But, this was a lull in the fighting. The big battles were coming very soon.

"Are we ready to activate the minefield?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

"Yes," the Risan woman helm officer replied, "But, we have a ship coming through the wormhole. And it's not Dominion. It's Starfleet."

"Starfleet?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes sir," Tactical reported behind him, "I confirm it is. And it's the _Defiant_."

"The _Defiant_?" Ross questioned, "How is that possible? It's been lost for over six months. Since the start of the war in fact."

"The ID tag says they are," the Security Chief, a Klingon, confirmed, "And they've got three Jem'Hadar Attack Ships in close pursuit."

Ross frowned. This could be a trap. Get past before the minefield was activated. If they activated it now, they wouldn't be able to get through. But, what if it was the _Defiant_? Rear Admiral Sisko and he had never been friends, but he respected the man. And his less then militaristic views.

"Send Strike Forces _Family Guy, Simpsons _and_ American Dad_ to meet them," he ordered, his Captain nodding, "Give them orders to shoot anything not Imperial."

* * *

"_Coming out of the wormhole in fifty-seconds_," Bashir reported from the helm, the ship shuddering as two more hits smashed into them, "_Hopefully it'll be long enough._"

"What do you mean?" Sisko asked as he and O'Brian dragged another unconscious Jem'Hadar warrior into the brig.

"The gas has never been tried on Jem'Hadar before," the Doctor said, "For all we know they could wake up in just a few seconds."

Sisko rolled his one eye, wishing his other eye was still able to see. Sure, he didn't need three dimension sight as much as others did, but it would still be nice. But, he could still beat any man.

"Now he tells us," O'Brian muttered through the mask.

"You said it Chief," Sisko said, a fire erupting from a conduit as another shot hit home, "I just hope we'll make it."

"_Coming out of the wormhole now_," Bashir reported and then a series of eruptions ran through the ship, knocking everyone off their feet.

"What the bullocks just happened?" O'Brian bellowed.

"_Just ran into a minefield outside the wormhole_," Bashir reported a few second later, "_That wasn't there last time we were here. Oh, and I'd suggest you guy get moving. Hull breach is imminent in the corridor_."

"What else can go wrong?" O'Brian asked as he and Sisko began making their way towards the turbolift. But an explosion soon made the whole trip impossible.

* * *

"I thought the minefield wasn't up," Captain Sulu shouted at the Security Chief.

"Mines are," he corrected, "But not the replicating system."

_What a bunch of idiots, _Ross groaned to himself.


	7. Decisions for God and Empire

**Chapter 6: Decisions for God and Empire**

Doctor Lewis Zimmerman was among the most knowledgeable in the field of medicine in the Terran Empire. Much of his skills came from time having spent serving under Admiral Leonard McCoy, Chief Medical Officer of Federation Medical Corps after Emperor Tiberius Kirk rose to the throne. That had been of course before the usurpation of the throne by Spock of Vulcan, the first of the Alien Emperors. The term Alien Emperor still applied to Mallor and her mother, despite the fact their gender was female.

Besides his stint under McCoy, he had also spent two years in Cardassian space. The tricks he learned from them had been invaluable. So invaluable infact, that he was stuck on perhaps the worst outpost in the entire Empire. Despite the prestige of the planet, it was absolutely a piece of garbage compared to where he could have been posted.

Cold Station 10 was out in middle of nowhere. An asteroid continually ramming into other asteroid, big an small. Only the elaborate shield had kept the entire asteroid from being totally destroyed. Pulverized by rocks that were bigger than you and didn't care where they went.

In many ways, Cold Station 10 served the same purpose as the ancient Center of Disease Control back on Earth. Every known disease was cataloged here. Basically he was living in a giant vat of myriad sicknesses too deadly to think of.

But, that was not what made it important. What made it important was the Augment Chamber. Originally created to control renegade Augments, it was here that every usurped Emperor was put into stasis. Emperor Janus who was overthrown by Empress Sato I. Emperor Garth of Izar who was outcast by Tiberius. And Emperor Tiberius also had a place of honor here as well.

But, he didn't think of anything like that at all. He sat leaning over the dinner table, his plate of food untouched. He hated working here. He hated his colleagues, Doctor T'Prin of Vulcan and Doctor Mendez, a small Hispanic woman from Earth. These two women were absolute terrors in his mind and he couldn't fathom a reason for their existence. And then there was the lazy security detail here. They rarely did their job and when they did it was with utmost lackadaisical attitudes. He really hated his work here.

"_Doctor Zimmerman to Communications. Doctor Zimmerman to Communications._"

Another thing he hated was the automated computer system. It was monotone in everything. He stood up and began moving out of the mess hall, past the women doctors as they ate their meal.

* * *

"It's a success," the Doctor reported from medical center, "Empress Mallor is now pregnant with your child, Emperor Riker."

This was good news indeed. Riker leaned back in the seat, the hypospray in his hands. It was becoming increasingly difficult to sleep at night, between his continual sexual ventures with Deanna and the Empress and an inexplicable insomnia that had come over him. Whenever he'd be falling asleep, right as he dozed off he'd jerk awake, keeping him from sleeping. He'd tried regular medications, but nothing was working. Until he got into the illegal Netrecal drug. Netrecal was a controlled substance from the Romulan territories that were used by drug-addicts and sexual offenders to knock either themselves, or their victims out cold. It was the only thing that was letting him sleep.

"Do you know a good anti-hallucinaginic drug?" Riker asked.

"Drug induced hallucinations or mental ones?" the Doctor inquired.

"Drug induced."

He could hear Deanna in the next room moan. She was also with child now, since Riker had redoubled his efforts. Now he was going to have to marry the woman. And the more he thought about it, the less appealing the idea was.

The Doctor shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind," he said, "Except for good sleep. Why do you ask?"

Riker shrugged. "No reason," he said, "Keep me informed. Riker out."

He shut off the communications channel, and leaned back. And tried to ignore the burning eyes of the demon that stuck out from the wall, grinning at him as he sat.

* * *

"Doctor Zimmerman," a voice said, all the lights shutting off in the hall as he walked.

"Whose...whose there?" Zimmerman stammered, looking wildly around, "Show yourself."

"You know who I am," the voice said, no form to be seen in the complete dark.

Zimmerman trembled in fear, wiping away at the sweat already beginning to form on his balding head. He had heard the voice before alright, back on Cardassia Prime. He'd been mobbed by anti-Terran gang-bangers and would have been killed. But, they had all been killed and as he lay bleeding on the ground, only able to see through one eye, in the dark moonlight night, all he could see were long legs in black pants.

"Yes...yes," he said, unable to move in fear, "I do. What...what do you...what do you want?"

"Come to collect a bit on the debt you owe me," the voice replied.

"I don't have a lot of money," he replied, glancing around him at the dark places, "And not a lot of possessions. But whatever you want you can have."

The man laughed, if indeed it was a man. "Oh, we know more then you think we do," he said, "We know that the Empire hasn't given you a credit in the past six months. How you work for these people is beyond me..."

"I'm a loyal subject!" Zimmerman's misplaced backbone suddenly found some fire, "That's why."

"I wonder," the voice intoned, "But no matter. There is a threat on the throne. You can help us remove that threat."

Zimmerman's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "I don't understand," he said, "You are Section 31! You can remove him if you wish."

"Who said anything about Section 31?" the voice asked with a laugh that made his backbone disappear, "What we need is you to access the Augment Chamber. Leave it unlocked. We'll do the rest."

"Will that make us even?" Zimmerman asked, hopeful.

There was a harsh laugh. "Oh my dear Doctor," the voice replied, "You owe me your life a dozen times over. This barely scratches the surface of what you owe me."

Before Zimmerman could ask any further, the lights turned on, blinding him with their intensity. It took a few seconds for his eyes ton adjust. But once they did, all he saw was nothing. He was alone in the hallway. Frightened, he turned from the direction to the communications room, and hurried towards the Augment Chamber.


	8. Enemy of My Enemy is Still my Enemy

**Chapter 7: Enemy of My Enemy is Still My Enemy**

"Welcome to the Seventh Annual Cestus III Baseball Championship Game sports-fans! We ask you to remain seated, but keep your eyes wide and your enthusiasm high. And watch out for flying balls. Especially you virgins in the audience, if you know what I mean. In the right dug-out, we have the Mars Elippecs! And in the left dug out, we have the Cestus Boo-dogs. Let the game begin!"

The young Bolian enthusiastic young man ran up to the pitchers-mound, the small white and black sewn baseball in hand. He had loved baseball, and was a rarity for the northern Bolian continent, where only seven people on the planet even knew the game once existed. He had tried to convert his family to the game with no success. But, on this outer colony of the Terran Empire, the game had once again come to life, and a new era for the game of Baseball was underway. And he had been chosen by the Bank of Bolia to pitch this game's opening pitch.

He stood, ready to throw the pitch, which he had practiced for so long in preparation for this day. But, a massive shadow fell over everything, and he looked up, just in time to see a yellow ball of light come crashing down into the stadium.

* * *

"I want the Tholian Ambassador here now!" Riker bellowed from the ceremonial throne.

As an aide ran off towards the door that lead out of the Palace, Riker threw the cup he had been driving from across the room, the guard catching it. He jumped up and turning around hit the first person he could find. Deanna reeled to the floor, her face already marked with a red mark that would become a hefty bruise.

Riker grabbed her by the collar and hauled her to her feet, and then threw her vigorously onto the throne. No one dared move at this abuse, not wanting to incur his wrath. Riker had become more and more abusive to those around him, and once a week he beat Deanna, who had gotten to a point that while she feared these sessions, was beginning to find them enjoyable. Like a man who has been punched so much he actually began to get a thrill from it.

He reached to punch her gut but she screamed, "No Will! Not our child!"

She had become pregnant around the same time as Mallor had. But, in the end, he was beginning not to care.

He turned and slammed his fist into the gut of a minister, making her collapse onto the ground.

The door burst open and the heavily armored Tholian ambassador was rushed inside. Riker turned to her and pointed his finger.

"How dare you attack our colony on Cestus III!" he bellowed, "We conquered it from the Gorn, not you! Do you really want war?"

The Tholian didn't answer a few seconds, standing absolutely still. Riker bellowed in rage at her silence. That seemed to act as a signal for her, because the ambassador approached and holding up a small device, touched a button.

"Hello, Captain Riker," Erik Pressman, or a prerecorded holographic message said, "Yeah, it's me. If you are seeing this message, it's because the Tholians and Gorn have taken me up on their offer. They do not war against the Empire, but against _you_. You are a menace to society, and towards all civilized peoples. They have agreed that you need to be removed from power, and will end the war against you once you abdicate and return power to Empress Mallor, the true ruler of the Terran Empire."

"Never!" Riker pounded his fist into his open palm.

"And if you refuse too, there will be more blood then you can imagine." The image disappeared as the message ended. Riker pointed an accusing finger at the Ambassador.

"You will leave Earth immediately if you value your life," he snarled.

The Tholian bowed slightly and turning, walked out of the Palace.

* * *

The Dominion forces fought vigorously over the planet Romulas, the combined assault of Hartman and Ross driving forward. Losses were great on both sides, but the Dominion had already lost two planet's closest to the Romulan star and were beginning to loose the fight over Romulas.

The Founder stood on the bridge of her flagship, a Jem Hadar Assault Ship three times the size of any of the other ships in the fleet. She watched the tactical displays on a holographic table, and watched as the left was beginning to give way. She slammed her fist on the table, cursing the day. How long was victory going to allude her?

"Where is the reserves?" she demanded, turning to the Alpha, "Were they not at the fifth planet?"

"They were called away by the Founder in the Braq'xis system," he reported, his gravelly voice nowhere the soothing voice of Weyoun, "They've been having troubles with another faction that's been raiding the planets there."

"What faction?" she demanded.

"Not sure," he shrugged, "but the reports indicate that whoever they are, are more powerful than anything we've come across before."

"Chasing ghosts," the Female Changeling growled, "Pull two squadrons of ships from the right to reinforce the left."

The Jem'Hadar bowed and went forward to carry out the orders. Was she surrounded by idiots? He knew that there was a battle going on here and they needed the ships here. What was his problem? Was he blind? Stupid? He probably had been away from the Great Link too long. Pity him.

* * *

I want _Serenity Squadron _and _AC/DC Squadron_ to push towards the enemy right. They're are getting weaker there. Don't let up the pressure at all.

That had been the last order Ross had given. Or was it the _Drunken Indians_ attack the moon base on Romulas' third moon? Who could tell anymore? So many different things going on in a battle. He watched the battle unfold, three Scimitar-Class ships launch a strafing run on a squadron of Jem Hadar that darted out to attack a disabled ship that had a nacelle destroyed and hull breaches.

Seventeen vessels were forming a wall between the two sides, their destroyed hulls making maneuvering hazardous. But war was a hazardous business. And he could destroy them.

"Bring up the reserves," he ordered, "I want..."

"Sir," the conn officer reported, "We've gotten an incoming vessel. Coming right in middle of the battlefield."

"Idiots!" he snapped, "Who is the bumbling..."

_We are the Borg. Lower your shields and surrender your ships. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our own._

"Holy s-t!" an officer, forgetting all decorum screamed.

Ross decided to allow it to slip. Because he himself was surprised and horrified by the Borg Cube.

"Open a transmission to the Dominion flagship," he ordered.

"But sir-"

"Now!" he bellowed, "Or we will all be killed."

A second later the screen changed to show the Female Changeling. She looked less than pleased.

"What is going on? Who are these people?" she demanded.

"They are the Borg," he said, "We will be destroyed by them unless we act together to destroy them."

A few seconds passed as the Founder turned to a Vorta and talked to him. "What do you suggest?" she asked.

"Full out attack," he said, "Keep changing your tactics and weapons modulations. They adapt if you give them time."

"We shall fight alongside you."


	9. Heavy Handed Negotiations

**Chapter 8: Heavy Handed Negotiations**

"Borg cube bearing down upon the Dominion fleet at coordinates 9.8.7 Mark 3," the conn reported, magnifying the Borg Cube as it rushed forward at an immense speed.

Ross hadn't been at Wolf 359 or the fighting at Sector 001 before the Borg Cube carrying Locutus was destroyed. But, he had read and heard many testimonies of the experience of facing the Borg from those that had. There was always a certain dread that fell upon those who spoke of it. Many survivors simply didn't talk about the experience, going pale at the hearing of the name.

"Send the _Cladius_ and Tango Squadron to attack from the rear," Ross ordered, "And have the _Balgoran_ and the _Kahless_ flank the Cube from it's starboard side."

He wouldn't be so easy to kill. He'd throw everything he had at the Borg, and Ross didn't care what was lost. The Borg had to be defeated and destroyed.

He watched a massive Klingon Negh'Var warship lurch forward, followed by a Romulan Dertoxicx cruiser as it tried to gain tactical superiority over the Borg Cube. It wasn't long before the Borg cube was opening fire with plasma weaponry, swatting Dominion and Starfleet ships aside, each couple blasts adapting to the defensive measures of the ships involved. The_ Kahless_ was enveloped in a fireball as the Balgoran was destroyed after a few rapid shots, each shot plowing through a different section of the ship. But the _Kahless_ pressed forward more or less unscathed, firing a flurry of photon torpedoes and disruptor fire from disruptor banks on it's port side and top side. Meanwhile, several Peremiter-class ships, with their saucer sections looking like the sharpened head of the Vulcan ponn far staffs, plowed their saucers into the hull, as one of their primary functions of the design was to be able to do that.

"_This is the Grogan to Admiral Ross,"_ one of the ships replied, "_We've rammed the ship and penetrated the cube. We're going to beam over-"_

But, as the communications line went silent, the tactical officer reported, "The Borg cube is changing sir."

"How so?" Ross asked, turning his chair to look at the man.

"There are tendrils extending from the cube's surface," he reported.

"On screen and magnify," he ordered, swerving back.

And there was no doubt about it. Great tendrils like assimilation tubules were extending and swinging around, wrapping themselves around the ships. Even as they were watching, the ships were beginning to transform, melting into the Borg cube. They were being assimilated and there was nothing to be done.

"Open a channel to the Grogan again," Ross ordered, pointing at the screen, "We need to get them out!"

"I'm sorry sir," the Klingon shook his head, "Our communications have been effectively jammed to those ships."

And with horror in his eyes, Ross watched the ships beings sucked into the hungry maw of the Borg cube.

* * *

_"Jim. Your name is Jim. Why did you save me?"_

His body twitched, ever so slightely. But not enough for concern on anyone's part.

_"We've got an Empire to conquer, my friend."_

Breath rushed into his lungs as his mouth opened wide and took the first breath in so long. It was an exciting thrill. A rush as one would say.

_"I really just want to live my new life in peace."_

His body arched as the breath filled his lungs. As he did so, the pull of long unused muscles was a delight as such as he'd never experienced.

_"Too bad, Vulcan. I need you at my side to overturn the weak government. Are you with me?"_

His hands flexed, the fingers unraveling from the infinite clench, his knuckles popping with every notion of his fingers.

_"You are and have always been my friend."_

He bolted upright in the bed, his heart racing at a million lightyears per hour. It had been so long since he had sat up or done anything that his muscles protested every movement. Every intricate movement was a begrudging from his body, not wanting anything to do with moving from it's eternal slumber. How long had he slept, undisturbed? One year? Five? Ten? Twenty years? Or could it merely be days?

He looked around, blinking as the lights blinded him. But finally, his eyes rested on something he'd rarely scene. The grey skin and neck bones were odd to see. And the dark intense eyes that had seen far too many interrogations; and men broken. Almost as bad as looking into the eyes of a ruthless killer.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"You are on Cardassian deep space station, _Empok Nor_," the man said, "My name is Garak. Welcome back to the land of the living, James Tiberius Kirk, once and future Emperor."

* * *

"Computers are still not completely online," the nurse said, "So it'll be a while before we'll know your name soldier. But, meanwhile, I must say you are doing excellent progress."

"Thank you," the soldier replied, "But I'm not sure how much progression one can make without remembering anything of your life. Will I ever know, Doctor?"

"Amnesia isn't the most predictable of ailments," she replied, "You could be a few weeks or a few months or a few years-"

"Or a few lifetimes."

"Yes, before you remember," she said, "Although after what you've been through, you might not want to know."

"Maybe," he said, looking at the Denobulan nurse, "But I'd still like to know."

She patted him on the shoulder and with an impossibly wide grin said, "Don't be too hard on yourself."

She moved off to tend to another patient, but he didn't follow her with his eyes. He looked towards the roof of the makeshift hospital and wondered who he was. What was he doing here. Why was this happening to him? Did he really want to know? For all he knew, this could be the highlight of his entire life. Losing his memory.


	10. Arise a Queen

**Chapter 9: Arise as a Queen**

Mallor looked out across the waters of the home that was her's, a smile gracing her features. Everything felt right. It looked right. It was everything she had ever wanted. A husband, kind and dear. A life, simple and unburdened by cares. How could she deny it was right?

And yet. It wasn't.

She looked at Tom, climbing off a bicycle, his muscles seeming to bulge with every motion. Sweat jumping off him with every movement. She chuckled as she watched him then charge for the lake and jump in, and massive splash exploding from the lake. He was her Tom. This was what she wanted.

And yet. It wasn't.

"Jump in!" Tom called out from the lake and she began to move forward. Jump in and get wet. A big grin across her face. She would enjoy this. It was what she needed.

And yet. It wasn't.

He continued to beckon her forward, but right at the water's edge, about to step in, realization hit her. Her smile dropped as she thought: _What am I doing? I have no right for this. Common people get to choose the lives they lead. Leaders don't. And I've abandoned my people._

"What's the matter?" Tom called, "The water's not bad."

Mallor turned on her feet and began to walk away. This wasn't right. She needed to leave. And she knew that the edge of the trail was where she could leave this fiction she had created. Bubbled in her own imagination. She needed to leave.

But, the more she walked away, the thicker the grass grew, knotting itself and trying to catch her. Rose bushes grew and their thorns became larger and larger, threatening to shred through her. Holes began to appear without warning before her feet, and behind the holes massive trees grew, blocking her way out. Tom's voice turned from pleading to demanding.

She fought her way though, but thistles grew and tripped her. She fell flat, her body scratching from the thistles as they cut into her, the scratches growing and not shrinking. As she panted, a shadow fell over her. She turned to look, and it was Tom, grown a million times his size, his fair skin turning red and green, stench of death heavy upon him. He pointed his finger down at her and laughed booming over the land.

"_One does not escape the Trap of the Mind_," he croaked, "_They must submit or perish._"

"Leave me alone!" she shouted as a massive hand reached down from the sky above, "I want to live! Q! Help me."

A rumbling was heard in the sky and waves of red and yellow rippled through the sky and the land cracked. The house, lake, trees, even the mountain tumbled into the opening maw of the earth. She forced herself up and pushed forward, shoving aside anything that stood in her path. She was making it, and standing at the edge of the trail, arms open, was Q. She ran towards him...

* * *

The clapping of hands greeted her. She stopped running, and looked around, the whole landscape turned from mountains and rivers to white clouds bellowing in blue skies, rushing by her. She turned, and saw her father standing there, as he looked before the Borg.

"Hello Mallor," he smiled, walking up to her, scar-free, "You have done yourself proud and made me proud."

"Your implants?" she asked, running a hand across his fine chiseled face, "Where are they? Surely Q would have let you keep your true appearance?"

"Q had nothing to do with this," he said, then with a pause added, "_Mostly_."

"So how fares the Empire?" Mallor asked, looking with wonder upon both of his eyes, something she had not seen since so long ago.

"It burns," he shook his head sorrowfully, "If only I could be there, I could have stopped this madness."

"You are leading some of the Empire's finest troops," she reasoned, "You can defeat any-"

"I'm dead," he said, holding up a hand to her lips, "Died at Bajor."

"Dead?" she asked, a feeling of thunder seeming to strike her.

"Let that not happen to the Empire," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders, "You have finally grown up. It is magnificent to see. The girl is gone, and there before me stands a woman. Be everything you can be. And save the Empire. Riker will be a difficult opponent to beat, but an alliance has formed, and you will find you have more allies than one for your aid. Now, my daughter, awake."

* * *

"Her EG reading have shot off the scale," the Doctor said.

"What does that mean?" the Hirogen Alpha asked.

"I have no idea," he said, but when he turned around, the Empress' hand shot up and wrapping around the throat of the nearest Terran security officer yanked hard down of the windpipe and twisted slightly. The guard fell in a heap of gurgling death. The second Terran in the room caught a foot to the chin that hit at an angle that stunned him, and then Mallor was upon him, her fingernails tearing into his throat and under his chin and tearing off mass of flesh and the rubbery windpipe.

"What is this?" the Hirogen bellowed as the only other guard in the room, a Bolian, couldn't turn around fast enough to prevent having his arm thrust behind him, thrown to the ground and Mallor foot come crashing on the back of his neck, breaking it in a clean motion.

"That's _impossible_!" the Doctor exclaimed as Mallor pulled the daggers out of the guards sheaths and crouched as the Hirogen prepared to pounce, "She's been in a coma for six _months_! Muscle atrophy should make her unable to move."

The Hirogen charged forth, throwing his armored gauntlet to knock aside the first knife she threw. But, right behind the first one came a second dagger and he dodged it with great ease. However, he wasn't fighting a simple Terran warrior or even a Klingon. Mallor had been trained in the Special Forces and they taught her a very key lesson. It was to direct the enemy to the third blade. And he learned this lesson as his dodge resulted in opening himself just enough to find the third dagger blade driving up through his chin and inbed into the base of his brain. He collapsed without a struggle.

The Doctor moved against her at impossible speeds with a hypospray of a formula for induced coma, but with a swift motion, the Empress pulled out a blaster and in the same fluid motion fired a single shot. His matrix fell apart as the holographic emmiter was destroyed in a shower of explosions.

"I am Mallor," she growled, her face an eternal snarl, as the doors burst open and guards begin to enter, brigning phasers set on stun to bear, "Empress of the Terran Empire! And I _will_ destroy all who oppose me."


	11. The Last of the War Emperors

**Chapter 10: The Last of the War Emperors**

It had been ages since James Tiberius Kirk had been able to walk around. Not even to mention the much longer time since he could walk around without having both his own men and the men of other officers shadowing him. The former to protect him, the latter to keep an eye for any mistake they could take advantage of. The Empire had not reached Cardassian space during the time he was Emperor. But, the little information he'd been able to obtain mentioned some recent unpleasantness between the two Alpha Quadrant super-powers.

His walk was ever so stiff. According to what little he did know, it had been almost eighty years since he had been put in cold storage. That was a long time, but what had happened since then? Wars seemed to still be happening, so that was good.

There was a knock at the door, and he straightened as much as his stiff back would allow. Well, it was actually the bending that was the problem. Even in stasis, the muscles got stiff and sore. Even with almost a week having gone by, he wasn't able to do much more then two or three inches in any direction.

"Come," he said, his voice still a little rusty from inuse.

The door opened and a human stepped into the room. The man was elderly, with a balding head of grey hair. They stood roughly the same height, but the man was a bit out of shape. Had Kirk been at his prime, he could have easily beaten the man. But this wasn't the best he had been in, and he'd have been worsted. The man wore a black uniform with grey shoulder pads, wearing the Terran Imperial logo on his right breast. He wore small metal discs on his collar, and he wondered what they were for.

"James Tiberius Kirk," the man smiled, clapping his hands together, "A legend come to life."

"You will address me by my title," Kirk snapped, "I am Emperor Tiberius Kirk. Once an Emperor, always an Emperor. And you shall observe the niceties."

"I'm afraid you aren't in any position to demand anything," the man reminded him firmly, "This is a different time. The Empire is not what it once was. And neither are you."

Kirk couldn't argue it, although he wanted to. This was as alien as anything he'd ever come across. Perhaps the closest anything came was his time in the alternate universe. With the weaklings that inhabited it. Their "glorious" Federation where everyone was equal. The strong ruled. That was the point behind everything.

"I assume you have a lot of questions," he said, "I am Admiral Erik Pressman."

"I assume you are the military governor of the Empire's conquered Cardassian territories," Kirk said with a stiff smile.

Pressman snorted. "The Empire does not stretch this far," he assured him, "In fact, the Empire returned all Cardassian territories lost during the late Cardassian War."

Kirk frowned. "Then if you are not in charge," he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I am currently leading a union of Gorn and Bree against the Terran Empire," Pressman said, "Or I should say, the current ruler."

"Traitor!" Kirk barked, although it was weak, "I'd skin you alive if I could. I assume the old traditions for torture are still in place."

Pressman sighed and pushed himself up onto a table. He looked at Kirk as a parent did an impatient child. It infuriated Kirk to no end to see him sit so smug. What gave him the right to act such? James Tiberius Kirk was Emperor! No matter what anyone said.

"It's a long tale," Pressman said.

"You better start talking then," Kirk growled, pushing himself up to sit on the bed.

"After you were overthrown by Spock," Pressman said, "He put you in cold storage. As soon as you were out of sight and out of mind, he advocated a change in Imperial Policy."

"What?" Kirk frowned.

"He advocated the Imperial forces take a defensive posture," Pressman continued.

"WHAT?!" Kirk bellowed, "What was he thinking?"

"He convinced the military to discontinue the booths and other more dramatic forms of punishment," he said, "And he even began a program of allowing worlds not part of the powers you conquered to join of their own free will and become buffer zones. You could call them satellite nations to the Terran Empire proper."

"Spock was always a sentimental fool," Kirk shook his head, "I assume he was overthrown?"

"Actually the changes grabbed hold over the people," Pressman shrugged, "Especially when he lowered taxes by twenty-five percent and allowed the Klingons and Romulans to continue using their own ships in the Imperial forces. He began the successive reign of the Good Emperors or the Alien Emperors as they are more commonly refereed as."

"How many of these peace loving fools have reigned?" Kirk asked. The whole idea of peace loving aliens as Caesar turned his stomach something fierce.

"After Spock died, his brother Sybok ruled for ten years as a religious fanatic," Pressman said, "And then two Talokians have sat on the throne; both female. During the reign of the mother, I was imprisoned for doing illegal experiments with cloaking technology."

Kirk snorted. "That's no crime," he said, "Not when I was in charge."

"You are_ not_ in charge," Pressman reminded him.

"So what is the state of the Empire now?" Kirk asked, "Why was I unfrozen?"

Pressman sighed. "The Empress was assassinated by Cardassians and the Empire went to war against them," he explained, "But after making great headway, a new power attacked us from the Gamma Quadrant. The Dominion. The new Empress, Mallor, was nearly killed in the first major action, trying to retake one of the Empire's provinces. She was put into a coma, and a human Captain called William Riker used it as a pretense of taking over the government. He's a usurper and the Empress is still alive. The Dominion is being held at bay, but I have vowed to return the Empress Mallor to her throne. That's why I have united these nations together to oppose Riker."

"Why do you need me?" Kirk asked, crossing his arms, "You seem to be doing quiet nicely."

"You are one of the most brilliant tactical minds in Imperial history," Pressman said, "And Riker has been called 'the modern Tiberius'. We need your mind to overthrow him."

Kirk threw back his head and laughed. It had been so long since he had laughed that it hurt him after only a few chortles. But, it was enough for his point. Pride would not allow him to let this pretender to the throne go unanswered. But...at the same time, the Empire had become weak. Ruled by leaders who believed peace was the way.

Bah! Great men were conquerors. Not peace-makers.

"I'll do it," he said, "But I will kill you before the end."

"Oh?" Pressman asked amused, "And why's that?"

"I have always hated traitors," he replied, to which Pressman laughed in his own stead.


	12. Encounter at Farpoint

**Chapter 11: Encounter at Farpoint**

Governor Groppler Zorn knew what the propaganda said. The Terran Empire had changed their ways, become more civilized. Weaker some called them, being just as inclined as to use diplomacy now as they were to use the sword to get what they wanted. But he and the Bandi knew differently. His planet of Deneb IV had been the last planet conquered by the Imperials during the reign of Emperor Spock. He had been a child when three _Excelsior_-Class Battle-cruisers dropped out of warp, lead by the _Star-Gazer_ Captain Jean-Luc Picard commanding in his first assignment as master of the vessel after he had assassinated his Captain.

They had wiped out a third of the Bandi, the second third being sold into slavery. The Bandi were a small race then, numbering roughly fifteen thousand, and their military was no more than sixty mounted riders. They had no need of weapons, as the space born entity had given them technological dominance in three systems, with it's ability to project and change items to match the whims of those who wished things. It had been a harmonius relationship. But, the Terrans had captured them all, and turned the peaceful alien into a conductor with which to build a massive station, but it had fallen into disrepair and ruin after Spock had changed the military from the Imperialistic Expansion views to the Defensive-Offense stance it now had.

But, Zorn was a skittish man, made more so by the true might of his office. Colonial Governor Nikolai Rozhenko was a Terran who was cruel. He adhered to the old ways, and weekly he held mass beatings of five random citizens from the survivors who were forced to live in the old Bandi City, and not allowed to repair it. Zorn was a puppet who played according to his will.

"Bandi!" Nikolai shouted from his desk, an ornately impressive piece of work, with holographic compartments that could minimize items so he could store basically everything in it and the top of the desk was a holographic display which showed every report and news article in thier sector of the Empire, "Bandi! Where are you, miserable wretch?"

"I'm here!" Zorn said, nearly tripping in his plain robes as he hurried to his side.

"Here!" he snarled, pushing a bowl to him. The dish was littered with eaten apple cores and pieces of apple that had fallen from his mouth as he had eaten. "Get me some more apples."

"But you could desire it from the entity-" he staggered as a back-handed blow hit his across the cheek. He crumpled to the floor, weeping loud sobs at the cruelty. The bowl flew at his face, hitting him square on the cheek and splashing on the tears that flowed from his eyes.

"Miserable cur!" growled Nikolai, "You are as worthless as an impotent Orion slave girl. Now do as I say or I will use you for the next public beating."

Zorn wept bitterly as he grabbed the bowl. Gathering himself up, he fled to the old storage cellars, cursing his ill luck.

* * *

_The Minstrel boy to the war has gone,_

_In the ranks of deaths ye may find him;_

_His father's sword he hath girded on,_

_With his wild harp slung along behind him,_

_Land of Song, the lays of the warrior bard,_

_May some day sound for thee,_

_But his harp belongs to the brave and free,_

_And shall never sound in slavery!_

The words rang out down the hall as Captain Benjamin Maxwell stepped down the corridor of the _ISS Rutledge_. His ramrod back, his grey well combed hair and his glowering eyes all played together to create a figure of menace, anguish and utter arrogant confidence. His crew worshiped him, as if he were a god. And why not? He was arguably perhaps the most successful commanders of the Cardassian War. Even now, despite the wars end, he would drop out of warp speed, destroy any Cardassian ship outside their territories and vanish. Some claimed he was a ghost.

Some men, even in the Terran Empire, were bred for war. All men and women of the Terran Empire had the bloodlust. But some chosen were born with only one thing they were good at. Not only were the good at it, they excelled in it. Maxwell was such a man. He had found excellence in the Cardassian War. An excellence given extreme vengeance after his family was killed during the only Cardassian offensive of the short war. His family and six hundred colonists had been murdered by the Cardies. And he vowed to make them pay.

"Captain Maxwell to Transporter Room Three," the Transporter Chief's voice came over the intercom.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his song interrupted.

"We just had someone beam on board sir," the Chief replied.

"Impossible," he replied dismissively, "We are traveling at Warp 5. No one could beam on this ship during warp travel."

"Tell them that!" the strained voice of the Chief came back, lacking the 'sir'.

"Alright," he replied, "On my way."

_If for no other reason then to punish you for forgetting your manners_, he thought grimly to himself. He strode down the corridors of the _New Orleans_-Class Frigate, passing by many crew and enlisted personalle. Every member who saw him thumped their chest and saluted with a chopping motion infront of them. Reminiscent of both Nazi and Klingon salutes. He however spent no time returning their salutes. There should be no need for the commander to have to salute his subordinates.

Entering the turbolift, he stood next to a skinny blond haired Ensign, fresh from the Academy. "Transporter Room Three," he commanded, the ensign snapping to attention.

"A bit sloppy don't you think?" he asked the Ensign, whose eyes went wide with unrestrained panic.

"I'm so-sorry si-si-sir," he stammered, the ensign visibly trembling despite himself.

"Don't worry," he said, hiding a laugh from the lad, "We'll forgo the court-martial this time."

"Thank you, sir," the boy said as the turbolift doors opened. He stepped out and headed towards the third door, wondering how long the Ensign would be sweating and trembling.

He door opened, whoosing behind him as he entered the range of the motion detector. He stepped forward, about ready to reprimand the Chief, when he spotted a woman sitting on the pad, physical exhaustion all but oozing from her. He stopped and glancing at the Chief, he shrugged. Looking back at the woman, he stepped forward.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "And how did you get on my ship?"

The woman didn't show any signs of having noticed what he said, her long black hair dangling downwards, covering her face, but her blue skin was visible. Spotting the two Security personnel standing close by, he held up his hand for them to stay and stepped forward slowly.

"Miss?" he asked, "Are you alright?"

Bending down, he reached out his hand and touched her shoulder. She didn't move, and placing a hand under her chin, raised it up. She was a woman in her youth, but he could not tell who she was. Her pupils were gone, and she sat with mouth slackened open. He felt her pulse in her neck, and very faintly could feel a heart beat every five seconds.

"Doctor Helvon to Transporter Room Three," he ordered, tapping his badge, "Bring a medical team here on the double."

"Acknowledged," the Cybernetic doctor replied, but as they waited, he looked at her. Why did she seem so familiar? Had he seen her somewhere before?

"My Gods!" one of the guards breathed in alarm, "It's her!"

"Who 'her'?" Maxwell demanded.

"It's the Empress Mallor!" he replied.

"Impossible," Maxwell shook his head, "She was announced to have passed away two weeks ago."

But as he looked at her, he couldn't help but wonder if he had been deceived.


	13. The Best of Both Worlds

**Chapter 12: The Best of Both Worlds**

Admiral Ross stood on the bridge of his gallant warship, looking out through the main viewer towards the fleet that had been assembled. The Dominion and Imperial forces had rallied together, the Borg having brought them together in a tenuous alliance of sorts. He had no illusions that the Dominion would turn on him as soon as the Borg threat had been quashed. It was a tough decision. Reports claimed there were three Borg cubes rubbing throughout the Klingon-Romulan provinces. They had to be destroyed before they could combine their might. But, if he destroyed them, who knew what state his forces would be in. They had lost fifty ships during the last battle with the Borg, and the Dominion forces had fared better, if only slightly.

The ISS _Betrayer_ had received only minor damage, but if he didn't move soon, who knew what would happen. Save the populace, or save the alliance. There wasn't anything more difficult. No decision that lay heavier upon the shoulders of a commander. He turned away from the sight of nearly five hundred Imperial and three hundred Dominion ships and wondered what to do.

The Borg were a menace to be sure. But, it had put the war with the Dominion on hold. It could be to their advantage to let them roam about. But, then again, they were Borg. They needed no rest, and should be given no time to move. To assimilate this latest news.

* * *

"I tell you I am doing fine!" Bashir ranted, trying to force himself off the sickbay bed.

"No, you are not," the Vulcan doctor said firmly.

"I'm a doctor!" Bashir snapped, "I know my own symptoms."

The Vulcan pointed a long finger at him. "You will stay there, or I will be forced to take added precautions to keeping you there."

Bashir gave up the fight, laying back against his will on the bed. The Chief was asleep on his own bed, sleeping pretty heavily as of late. He had done so since he learned that his wife was refusing to leave Bajor to come see him, saying her work was more important then he was. Commander Kira sat on her bed, her back leaning against the far wall. She was doing pretty well, despite everything that had happened.

Sisko on the other hand was standing, leaning against a bulkhead. He loved being here again, and all thoughts of his personal loss were all but gone. Yes, it was sad that Jadzia had died. But, he really wondered if there was any point to the relationship. He had remembered Kerzon Dax, and when he had died and the young woman had gotten the worm, he remembered a woman, unsure of herself, going to him. He thought now that the love had been more one-sided than he had first believed. She certainly had more affection than he had.

In the end, he believed he only really cared about the Empire. As it should be. And always would be. And as soon as he could, he'd be back on the_ Defiant_, heading into glorious battle, perhaps to end his miserable existence.

* * *

The Imperial _Defiant-_Class ship _Avenger_ watched as the slaughter continued. They were battling Gorn forces over the planet Nelvok V, and it had been one of six ships sent to probe the defenses of the Gorn. The Gorn ships were square, with two cylinder cones on top and bottom of the square hull. The cones were the engines, and there was perhaps ten in the area. Their weapons were green plasma proton weapons, having no phaser or disruptors. But, for all that, all thier weapons had tracking systems installed, that caused them to fly towards their targets and follow them like hounds.

Two Korlev Heavy Raiders plowed into the midst of the Gorn ships, phaser banks lancing out in every direction, plastering the hull of a single Gorn cruiser. It had no shields, but the hull was a heavy metal, which had a natural regenerative quality. The phaser burst tore through the hull, and the Captain of the _Avenger_ no doubt imagined the Gorn officers, slow like lumbering beasts, trying to rush to get their warriors, the long tailed raptor-creatures with tiny brains, to get working harder, helping the natural regeneration process going faster.

Captain Ramirez turned to his first officer, and pointing to where an Excelsior class was doing a waltz with two Gorn cruisers, ordered, "Let's go and help out our comrades."

"Ahead full impulse!" the First officer ordered, and the _Avenger_ sped forward, like an arrow loosed from the bow. Two Gorn cruisers broke off of battling the damaged hulk of an _Intrepid_ warship which was listing to port and sped forward towards the _Avenger_. A flurry of pulse cannons ruptured through the ventral engines on one of the cruisers, causing the ship to dive downward, it's top engines no longer countered by the balance of the bottom engines. A couple more blast ruptured it, and destroyed roughly a fifth of the main hull, the _Avenger_ passing through unscathed. The remaining ship turned to follow the_ Defiant_ warship only to be blinded by aft photons that exploded just a few meters away from the hull, scrambling the sensors.

This wasn't meant to be a battle to the death. A fact finding mission to more precise. To see what types of ships the Gorn had.

"Hail _Voyager_," Ramirez ordered, and on screen appeared the tattoed face of Captain Chakotay.

"Would you like some help?" he asked.

"I think we can manage," Chakotay said, the view rocking as the Intrepid was hit by a flurry of photons from the three Gorn cruisers mauling it.

Ramirez snorted, "Not bloody likely. We are going to pull out now. Will you be able to warp out?"

Chakotay looked at his conn officer off screen before glancing at Ramirez. "We'll only be able to make warp three."

Ramirez nodded. "Alright," he said, "We'll give you covering fire. Jump to warp."

"Alright," Chakotay said, and the channel closed.

Ramirez could see the three Gorn cruisers charging at _Voyager_, green weapons fire streaming forth, battering the weakened secondary shields of _Voyager_. He punched in a couple of commands and the ship lurched forward, banking right.

"Fire a spread of phaser and pulse cannons at the lead two ships," he ordered, "And as we swing around, send three quantum torpedoes aft."

Pulse and phaser fire leapt forth, slicing through the hulls of the lead two Gorn ships. They reversed course, backing away in an attempt to avoid the fire. The third one sped past them, turning it's attention towards_ Avenger_. Voyager had turned 95 degrees and shot into warp, following the other ships as they also escaped. The Gorn ships were faster at impulse and started firing as they came closer to the Avenger, which juked back and forth. Then, when it was within thirty kilometers, it was hit with a quantum torpedo. It slowed down, but was hit a second time, causing it to swing to port, a third of it's forward section gone. The third and last one tore through it's center, blowing a great hole in the ship and causing it to explode in fiery glory.

"Get us out of here," Ramirez ordered, "Warp 5."

And with that, the_ Avenger_ sped into warp.

Meanwhile, in a cloaked Breen ship at the edge of the battlefield, a lonely figure stood in the war room. He watched replayed the maneuvers of the Imperial ships. They were impressive, and it would be a shame to destroy them. He wouldn't have to destroy them. Not yet. No, he turned to the Gorn captain standing at the corner and the Breen commander.

"I want you to send an encoded message to our forces in the Delta Vega system," he said, "Alert them that we will need them to hold position."

The Gorn commander hissed. "But, there isss no forcccesss there," he reminded him, "And even if there were, it would cut through Imperial ssspaccce."

"Exactly my point," Kirk said with a grim smile.


	14. Redemption

**Chapter 13: Redemption**

Vice Admiral James Leyton had been among those who had jumped at the opportunity to side with the new Emperor. The old monarchy as led by a woman was weak and unable to do more then become the whore of the galaxy, letting the dregs of society suckle on the milk of the Terran Empire. But not Riker. Emperor Will Riker had brought a renaissance of military might to the Empire. The Dominion was bottled up, unable to do anything except what his good friend Ross would allow them.

Even now, with the Gorn and Breen offensive, he knew they would win. For Riker had said so. And he believed in Riker the First. He had been given the task of leading the armada of three fleets against the forces in the Delta Vega system. They would rue the day they had thought to defy the Empire.

The ISS _Okinawa_ would once again bear him to victory as it had during the Terran-Tzenkethi War. The losses of the Dominion conflict had not stopped the Emperor from making grand plans. He was throwing so much weight into this massive gamble. He felt the eyes of his second officer, Captain Erika Benteen, boring into his back.

"Yes Benteen?" he asked.

"I have done everything I could to advance to this position of command of this ship," she said, "And did you not say I was the best officer to take over after you left?"

"I did indeed," he inclined his head.

"Then why, sir, have you taken command of this ship?" she asked, a little anger flaring up, "You could choose any ship of this fleet!"

"I could have," he said, hands behind his back, looking back at her, "And believe me, it has nothing to do with your performance. You have done wonders with this ship."

"Then why?" she pressed.

"You might have done wonders," he said, "But your combat experience is very limited. Much of the time you were sick during engagements we had. And also, I need a crew that is comfortable with me on board. A crew I know the extent they can go. Believe me, Erika, I am doing only what is best for the fleet."

"Perhaps best for you," she said, "But not for this fleet."

Leyton rubbed his brow. She would never accept whatever he had said. Her pride was wounded and try though he might, she was not going to be able to understand his reasons. Despite the validity of them. All she saw was him barring her way to advancement. Not that was what he saw.

"I will be at the replomat," he said, turning away from the spacious star view he saw, "Alert me once the last of the ships has arrived. You have the bridge."

"Yes sir," Benteen said, barely able to hold her tongue in check.

* * *

"Lieutenant Tal'aura," the bald Human commander ordered, standing infront of a massive chamber, "Increase the output by seven percent."

"Do you think that's wise?" she asked, the Romulan sitting behind a console, "We barely can keep this thing stable as it is."

"I have full confidence in your ability to keep us from being vaporized," he said, hands behind his back. A massive vortex of green light and particles swept around in the chamber, the whole mass contorted as if it were a changeling in the throws of pain.

The Romulan was unconvinced and she looked imploring at him. "I really think that would be a mistake," she said.

The man turned to her, his dark eyes flashing. He was a man who accepted no negative answers. He was a ruthless commander, so ruthless that the now-deceased Empress Mallor had ordered him taken off the front-lines. His hand rested on the dagger at his side.

"Then would you like to explain to the Emperor why we haven't finished producing the Thalaron weapon yet?" he demanded, his voice cold as a Breen winter. "He wants this done by the end of the day. He wants to use it as soon as it is ready. Now you shall increase the output by seven percent. Or should I fetch someone to do it? A Reman perhaps?"

Tal'aura looked away from his cold glance and pushing a few buttons on the console screen before her, slid a level on it ever so slightly. The massive vortex of green energy seemed to speed up in fury. Round and round it swept. It was soon going at such a speed that it looked like it could have broken through the chamber in it's speed. It sounded like a tornado inside the case, the wind howling over everything. But, just when Tal'aura reached out to shut it down without authority, the vortex stopped spinning. In it's place was a pillar of green particles, with near the bottom ribbons of particle that swirled slowly around it.

"Check the results," the man ordered, not turning from the sight.

"The thalaron particles have stabilized," Tal'aura said, after taking a second to get over her shock, "It's a bit high in the teritary EM band. But that I think it's more or less successful."

"Let's send the results to the Emperor," he ordered, "I am sure he'll be pleased to hear-"

"There is no need to send it to me," Riker's voice called out from the door, which had opened during the excitement, "Congratulations, Commander Shinzon. I see the plan to create a clone of Picard was not wholly a bad choice."

Shinzon bit his tongue, in the metaphorical sense. He absolutely detested the need for everyone to compare him to Picard. He had done much with his own talents. Then why couldn't anybody see him as but a shadow of the man that had been Picard. He had a vision, that long after Picard's name had fallen into dust, his would live on forever. The victory of the Echo over the Voice.

"Thank you, sire," he said, bowing his head.

"How long will it take to get these weaponized?" Riker asked, waving his hand towards the chamber, walking with continual glances around him, as if expecting at any second an assassination attempt.

"About three days," Shinzon said.

"What?" Riker said, turning an accusing glance at him, "Why three days?"

Shinzon waved his arms at the radiation. "We need to make sure the torpedoes we put them in fit all the criteria for transportation. Density, temperature, things of that nature."

"You have sixteen hours," Riker said, looking over at Tal'aura.

"We can't do it in that short of time, sire," Shinzon shook his head, "too much could go wrong."

"I can find ways to motivate you," Riker said, now standing behind Tal'aura. She looked nervously at Shinzon. Suddenly, a dagger was in Riker's hand, and grabbed her by the tip of her ear slashed downwards, separating the ear from the side of the face in a torrent of blood. Tal'aura screamed as Riker then shoved the ear in her mouth, and with a thrust of his hand, forced her to chomp down on it. And grabbing the back of her head, smashed it against the console, breaking a good section of it, the Romulan crying in pain, tears and blood streaming from her eyes and wounds.

"Sixteen hours," Riker said, and turning around, strode out of the room. Shinzon had never been one to show pity or compassion. His record spoke of that. But, in this case, even he had been taken by surprise at the sheer brutality he had witnessed. He stepped up to Tal'aura, and putting a hand on her shoulder as she sobbed, he wondered what type of madman Riker could possibly be.


	15. Chains of Command

**Chapter 14: The Chain of Command**

"Why the hack haven't we gone to the assistance of our forces in the Alpha Quadrant?" demanded Minosk, her long Vorta hair spiraling as she whirled on Gam'alak, who stood next to a massive storage unit of ketracel white.

He looked within the chamber. Massive amounts of light poured up from the floor of the chamber, which he looked in from a window. The ketracel white was being created by a race of the Dominion That had two small beady eyes, a cloven upper lip that ended at their round nostrils. This was the race of Ketracel. They were the ones who had created the white so many years ago. 500 to be exact, five hundred years after the Dominion first took form and after the Vorta had been conquered and wasted in a long and bloody series of conquests that had taken a tenth of the Gamma Quadrant but had left less than 100 alive. They had been forced to turn to the perfect warrior race, the Jem'Hadar, who started out as a mercanry force but needed to be completely controlled. So, the white had been created.

Each vial of white was taken from a massive liquid chamber underneath the floor. He watched as several Ketracel scientists ascended a flight of stairs, handing off the buckets of the liquid to other scientists. They in turn took a vial in each hand and scooped out the white, filling it into each vial. Each basket could fill one hundred vials. Then, from there, they were placed in a circular holding disc, which then after being filled with thirty vials, would be raised and sent to the massive storage chamber they could see through transparent glass. Millions of these discs hovered on pillars, slowly spinning around the base. White had to be continually shaken when it wasn't being consumed. Even in the metal cases the Vorta carried in the field, small vibrators in the box shook and stirred the white. If they didn't do this, the white would clump and become useless.

"The Founders are becoming restless," Minosk continued, "They want action as soon as possible!"

Gam'alak continued watching the fascinating procedure of the life supplies and the enslavement of his race. In some ways, while they were able to outperform most life forms, he envied their freedom. Their ability to choose. The ketracel facilities were rigged to explode if there ever was a Jem'Hadar uprising on the planet. They'd be forced to live on what they had on hand, and many would die of starvation and withdrawal within twenty-eight hours. But, who was he to question Gods?

"Gam'alak!" Minosk shouted, "Are you listening to me? The Founder are demanding action."

"I heard you the first time, Vorta," Gam'alak finally replied, turning away from the beautiful sight.

Minosk looked at him curiously, and then deciding that she had his undivided attention, said, "So, what are you going to do? The Founders are thinking you haven't gotten backbone to do this job. Do you understand what that means?"

Gam'alak's eyes flashed dangerously. "Of course I do," he said, "And I have only a month left before I am sent as an Honored Elder to the Colonies. Finally getting to choose a hobby for myself and loosing the need for the ketracel white. Do you really think I would jeopardize my coming freedom.?"

Minosk was clearly not convinced as she stroked her chin as she did when she was thinking. Gam'alak had no sexual inclination towards this woman, for the Jem'Hadar didn't have any of those desires. He wondered what they were like and if he would be able to when he reached the Colonies? It would be an interesting experience to say the least.

"Do you have at least an idea of what you want to do?" she finally asked, dropped her hand to her hip.

"Tell the Founders the time is near at hand," Gam'alak said, "I just await upon a sign."

"What sign?" she asked.

"You'll know it when I send the armada forward," Gam'alak said.

* * *

"You can't be serious."

"Oh," Admiral Donatra said, her feet on _his _desk, "My fleet does not need your assistance."

"But I have been in the enemy domain," Sisko said, standing next to the porthole window, leaning against the Cardassian architecture, "I assure you I'd be able to get you through more or less unscathed."

"You were captured by the enemy," the Romulan female reminded him with a smirk, "A sure sign of competence if I have ever seen one."

Sisko lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed his brow. He had tried really hard to make his case. Donatra had been given orders by the Emperor to proceed at once into the Gamma Quadrant, forcing the Dominion forces to force them onto the defensive. But, he wasn't able to get them to realize they needed his help. Ever since he had gotten back, they had treated him with suspicion and intolerance.

"You are making a serious mistake," he said, tapping the desk with his fist.

Donatra shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps," she said, "but it is my mistake to make. And now, if you don't mind, I'll be on my way."

* * *

The sound of the dabo tables sounded a series of twirling bells as different game boards spun in place, small metallic balls bouncing as they made contact with the small dividers. There was a series of beeps as a dart board sounded hits. Arguments erupted from some of the tables as Orions, Terrans, and Roumlans played Dom-jat. Some Ferengi were upstairs, a Tangon board in between them. A large, wiry haired creature called Morn chatted up a storm with a Vulcan female, who looked anything but in the mood for his jibber jabber. Cries and exclamations rolled in from upstairs, some people in the throes of lust while others combated wicked forces in the holosuites.

"Why don't you tell your uncle Quark all about it," the Ferengi bartender said, standing next to Chief O'Brien and Bashir as they sat at the table. The genetically enhanced Doctor was laying his chest across the table, his arms crossed and holding up his head. Miles was holding a cup between his hands, slowly tilting it back and forth, the untouched Scotch sloshing back and forth.

"What are you talking about?" Bashir rolled his eyes with a grunt.

"You two have been nothing but a cloud of gloom ever since you got here," Quark said, "Notice how noone is sitting with two tables of you guys? Making my business take a hit on the profits."

""I'm sorry if we aren't helping your profit margins you little toad," O'Brien snapped, "All we want is to be left in peace. And quiet."

Quark rolled his eyes, tapping the serving tray by his side. "Either find something to keep yourselves preoccupied or making me money, or leave here," he said, turning and baring his teeth at someone who was a suspected cheater.

* * *

Benjamin Maxwell stepped into sickbay, and first thing he spotted was the doctor in charge of the medical going-ons of the ship ISS _Rutledge_. This young woman had graduated top in her class back at the Academy and had served faithfully in the couple years she had been on the ship.

"How is your patient Lanse?" he asked, the woman looking a bit haggard.

"She is who she says she is," the curly black-haired woman said, "I have run every test I can think of and it keeps coming up the same. She is Empress Mallor. She came by Transwarp beaming. That's why she went into a semi-coma-tonic state. But, they'll both be fine."

"_Both_?" Maxwell raised an eyebrow.

"She's pregnant," Doctor Lanse said, "Another reason the transporting messed her up. But, she's better now."

Maxwell nodded and stepping past her, stepped up to the handsome blue-skinned alien lying on his sickbay bed. She glanced over at him and blinked twice, as if trying to sort out what was going on. It must be very disconcerting for her now.

"I am sorry, Highness," he said.

Mallor blinked. "What for?" she asked curiously.

"If we had known you were coming," he said, "I would have rolled out the red carpet. But I was under the impression you had died."

Mallor nodded slowly. "I believe that would be a problem," she agreed.

"So?" Maxwell said, clapping his hands together and pushing himself up onto another bed. "What can I do for you?"

"Help me reclaim my throne, and you shall become a legend."


	16. Three Way Waltz

**Chapter 15: Three Way Waltz**

"Picking up anything on sensors?" Admiral Leyton asked, the gleam of anticipation of the coming slaughter filling his eyes.

"Yes sir," came the response from the Tactical officer, "Roughly two hundred Gorn and Breen ships near the third planet."

Leyton pumped his fist into the air. It was going to be as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. A time for James Leyton to make an indelible print upon the pages of history. To go right beside George Custer's heroic victory over the Indians at Little Big Horn. Captain Benteen sat, sulking in the corner, not even sitting in the First Officers seat. Oh well, she was a poor sport.

"Drop us out of warp one hundred kilometers from their position," he ordered, "Send word to the armada: Go in with weapons charged.I want the 55th Tactical Squadron and the 57th and the 112th to drop out two dozen kilometers above the enemy ships, and then attack from above. The Klingons and the Romulans are to aim for thier right flank. The rest of us, go straight for them."

"Transmitting orders now," Ops reported.

"Dropping out of warp now." And with that, the ships slid into normal space.

Punching in a small command into the replicator at his armrest, a whirling pattern of lights soon formed into a cup of Saurian Brandy. Five hundred and forty ships. It was an impressive gathering of vessels. Not as much as that which had been defeated at the Second Battle of Bajor. But, more than Leyton had ever commanded.

"Ummm...sir?" Ops reported, "Where is the enemy fleet?"

Leyton looked up, and on his viewscreen, there wasn't a single enemy vessel. He scowled, unable to understand why he was only seeing a planet and no enemy vessels. There was a sound of voices, and one by one, each squadron reported the exact same thing. No enemy ships to be seen.

"Where are they?" he demanded, "Someone tell me what is going on!"

"Warp signatures detected sir," Tactical reported.

"How many?" Leyton demanded. A slight hesitation followed. "How many?"

"One thousand four hundred and seven," he replied.

"Defensive formation Gamma Seven," Leyton snapped, "We've been ambushed."

The next thing they knew, a massive fleet of Breen and Gorn ships dropped out of warp. The Breen opened the engagement, firing thousands of blue balls of energy, which looked like balls of energy at the Imperial fleet as it scrambled. Fifteen ships were hit, and suddenly they fell to a dead stop, the ships power deactivated. And then, the Gorn ships, both the blocky cruisers and heavier battle ships that looked like massive rectangles with engines behind, lurched forward, firing lasers and disruptors at the Imperial fleet.

Within minutes they were engaged in a dogfight, Imperial ship beating off wave after wave of the superior enemies. Breen assault frigates, smaller then the energy dampening vessels, but equal in length to an _Excelsior_-class flew above the Terran fleet raining destruction down on them, streams of phaser fire causing almost a dozen to either be destroyed or seriously damaged.

"The _Guillotine_ and _Conquistadors _have just been destroyed," Ops reported, the bridge shuddering from a near miss from an energy pulse, "The _Saxon_, _Williams_ and _Henry V_ report heavy damage."

"Admiral," Tactical shouted, "They are trying to flank us."

"Order the Klingons to move against the flanking force," Leyton ordered, doing his best to maintain his calm demenor.

A massive eruption of explosion ran along the entire set of consoles that lined the backwall, throwing six crew members back. Their screams of pain rang out all over the bridge. He pointed to the relief crew and pointed to the consoles.

* * *

"The Imperialsss have matched our movesss againssst their flank," the Gorn General reported with a growl, "Curssse the nessstsss they crawled from!"

A massive display on a holographic table showed the progression of battle. The Tooth symbol of the Gorn showed where each of their ships were. The Breen Loops and Diamond showed where Breen vessels were. And Terran vessels were represented by the Earth and Dagger symbols. Each vessel's current status was shown by degrees from Green to Red. Dead ships vanished.

_We are taking heavy losses,_ the Breen Supreme Commander added, _This is not as easy as you promised._

"I never said it would be easy," Kirk replied, "It was you both who assumed it would be. These are Terrans. They will not be conquered easily. Do not worry though, gentlemen. When we win this battle, on to Earth and resuming my place as Emperor of the Terran Empire."

"Of course," Pressman said, "But, we shall win. You have my word."

* * *

"_We've lost communications sir_," the Chief Engineer reported from the engine room, "_And the Warp Core is cracking. I think we'll have a core breech soon_."

"No!" Leyton countered, "If we lose the core, we're not getting out of this."

"_I'll do my best sir_."

Sweat slid down his face, his hands clenched in fists. He watched a _Raptor_-Class starship get rammed from two sides by the Gorn and could only imagine the bitter hand to hand fighting going on. A Galaxy-Class starship was trading blows with three Breen attack fighters, and had knocked one out when it was hit by three of the energy dampening weapons. It was soon swarmed by Breen fighters, racking the hull with fire and causing yellow plumes of fire to erupt from the destroyed sections of the ship.

"Another ship is dropping out of warp," Benteen reported, the Tactical officer dead and she having taken his place, "It's a _Scimitar_-class warship. They're opening they weapons array."

"Good!" Leyton exclaimed, pounding his armrest, "We'll get out of this yet."

* * *

"Earl grey, hot."

The cup whirred into life, and Shinzon took it off the small replicator at his side. The tactical display showed the massed fighting going on in this system. Lifting up the cup to his lips, his took a small, soothing sip of it. Remans and Romulans busied themselves across the bridge.

"Sixteen Breen ships have broken off their attack and are heading towards us," the Reman at the helm reported.

"Yes, I see that," Shinzon said, in no need to hurry, "Raise the cloak. Let's see if they can see us."

The Breen ships passed around the ship, scattering in every direction, trying to find the _Scimitar of the Emperor_. But, this was the most perfect cloak that had ever been made. One Breen ship swept right through the ship itself, passing through as if there had been nothing in the way. Several Romualns and Remans dived for cover, forgetting the cloaking device also had phase shifting abilities. There was something to be said so seeing the Breen ship which looked like the top of a doubled headed ax pass through, and it almost felt ticklish as it passed through Shinzon, sitting like stone on his command chair.

"Viceroy," he called out, "how long until we can fire?"

"Thirty seconds," the Reman said, pushing himself up from where he had dived to and checking the progress of the arms deployment.

"Once it is ready," Shinzon said, pausing to take another sip, "Phase us back to normal space and then fire the weapon."

"Yes sir."

* * *

The Imperial ships were falling back, firing torpedoes and phasers as they went. Those who couldn't fall back, either fought, or self-destructed, trying to take out as many ships as possible. Leyton was lying on the floor, blood flowing from his legs, which had been torn off during an explosion. The bridge was filled with black smoke which was spewing forth from ruptured coolant conduits.

"Sir," Benteen replied, her bottom lip torn, "The _Scimitar_ has fired a weapon at the enemy. It's...sir, that's impossible."

"What?" Leyton asked, drowsiness caused by blood loss beginning to overcome him.

"It's thalaron radiation," she said, "And it isn't controlled. Sir, it's going to envelope this whole system."

"Can we escape?" Leyton asked. Even in his compromised state, he could still remember what thalaron radiation would do. It would dissolve anything and everything organic.

"Too late sir," Benteen said.

Ss she said that, green particles began to seep through the bulkhead, swarming forward. Crew ran, some trying in vain to blast it with phasers. Screams arose as people began to turn into dust. A few people activated personal forcefields, but were soon overwhelmed as the radiation passed through with ease. The green particles swarmed around Leyton, and as he raised his hand in an attempt to shoo it away, he watched as his fingers began to dry and turn into a grey dust.

* * *

"What isss thisss?" demanded the Gorn, watching as ships tried to flee but one by one stopped dead in their tracks. Distress cries died out swiftly.

_This is madness! Could anyone survive such an attack?_

Pressman turned pale and fell backwards against the wall, his legs loosing all thier strength. And Kirk stood there, glaring at the screen. So, he had been outmaneuvered. But, he had learned something valuable about his enemy. He was dangerous. Insane even. And he would have to be smarter next time.


	17. Call of Unity

**Chapter 15: Call of Unity**

"Are you absolutely sure you can trust her?" Maxwell asked, as the starship hovered over a massive asteroid in the middle of nowhere.

The young blue-skinned woman that stood in front of him did not turn to look at him. Her mind was completely focused on the woman who lived on the asteroid. The woman was a Ezri Tigan. After the death of her family to the Orion Syndicate, she had hunted them down with a passion and now they refused to touch her. Her family had been devoted to mining operations and after an aggressive expansion policy, she now had in her control the third largest civilian company in the Empire. She was a money bag for the Terran Empire, or to be more specific, Mallor.

"Miss Tigan will do whatever I need," she replied.

"How can you be sure?" Maxwell asked, "In this time where the new Emperor destroys anything that doesn't bow to him, how can you possibly know she isn't on his side?"

"Let us just say she and I are very old friends," the Empress explained.

Maxwell tried to contain a snort of derision. "When power is in play," he mused, "Anyone will go where the wind blows."

"I did not ask for any homosapian philosophical sayings," she shot back, "Open the channel."

There was a second pause as the channel was opened. The screen flashed to a young woman, whose long hair was draped over her head and down towards the desk she sat behind. The sound of desk drawers being opened filled the communication audio and muttered curses.

"Starfleet always calling when I am busy," she grumbled, "Can't you really find someone else to bother?"

"I would if I had anyone else to bug Ezri," Mallor said, a small smile playing across her face.

The young woman looked up, and it was clear she couldn't have been more than twenty-three. She blinked a couple of times in surprise, and pressed her face closer to the screen to see if she was seeing correctly. Mallor remembered a child, who wore little to nothing when she could and ran around wild. Ah, those had been good days.

But now there was a woman, dressed professionally. Gone was the wildness of youth, replaced by an intense understanding. A maturity that had been gained much too fast. Many of the rumors of what she had done to enemies belied her almost childlike expression.

"Well, I'll be," she said with a smile, "Mal! I knew you weren't dead!"

"Yeah," she didn't reprimand her for the childhood nickname, "It's me Z."

The young woman's smile lit up the screen as she clapped her hands together. "Bravo, Mel," she said, "I heard you were dead. But I'd think that Special Forces training would come in handy."

"More then you'd possibly know," she assured her, "Can't kill me that easily."

"Beam down to my suite," the Trill said, "I'll be with you as soon as I can."

"Will do Z," she smiled, "Bye now."

"Bye."

* * *

"Well, well," Ezri Tigan said, holding a glass of fine Bajoran Spring Wine between her fingers and walked through the suite to the balcony that overlooked the dry and dusty mining world, "You haven't changed much over the past two years."

"Are you kidding?" the Empress snorted, lifting her own cup and taking a small sip of the bubbly liquid, "I've changed a bunch."

"Not in the most important ways," Ezri assured her, leaning against the railing. The three suns were burning softly as they were setting beyond a mountain range to the south, "You're still the woman who saved me from that time at Mak'davak Colony."

"I'm sure you could have handled all those lonely men by yourself," she assured her. "My part was more for their own protection than yours. Which reminds me, have you ever settled down?"

The young woman shook her head. "I don't have time," she explained.

"There's always time for love," Mallor countered, "Even if you don't believe so."

"Between my ongoing war with the Orion Syndicate, keeping my financial empire running smoothly and assimilating the competition there is no time," Ezri shrugged, looking at the liquid in her glass, "I have no time for affairs. What about you and that Lt. Paris?"

Mallor pursed her lips and bite back her own response. She loved Ezri like a little sister, and she knew Ezri wanted to find love. But she was such a stubborn and determined young woman that she'd never have enough time to look around. Nor even if she had the time would she look around. Ezri was stuck in a fantasy in which one could go their entire lives without taking the time for such pursuits.

"He's a commoner," she said, a great weight of sorrow falling on her. "I'm royalty. Even if I was to marry him, what kind of message would that send? Even if I knew where he was, which I don't, it would send the wrong impression to the other powers. I'm not afford the luxury of true love."

"So what brings you here to my lovely capitol of my empire?" Ezri asked, changing the subject as she saw the change to her friends mood, "I'm sure it wasn't just to reminisce of old times and lost opportunities."

Mallor mentally pulled herself away from the self-pity and nodded. "I need you assistance," she said.

"Name it," she said, turning to her.

"I need your financial resources," she said, "A ton of it."

"Sure," Ezri shrugged, "But why do you need it? You have the whole Imperial Treasury."

Mallor sighed and took another sip of the wine. "Riker has the treasury and the fleet," she said, "And even with his...unique...tactics, he's brought the Empire back to the war days. The populace loves him for it."

"But you want to what?" she asked, "Hire mercenaries? I grant you, news is not as easy to come by here as near the Imperial center. But didn't he just beat a combined force of Gorn and Breen vessels?"

"Not completely," Mallor assured her, "And there are also the Tholians. They're always looking for more cash to fund their xenophobic realm. And not everyone in Starfleet appreciates Riker's leadership. They see the ruin he's causing to the Empire. But not all will rally to my banner without a cash incentive. I can win back this throne _and _end the Dominion conflict. But I need your funds."

Ezri nodded her head. "I'd take you over Riker any day," she smiled, "Consider it done."


	18. Bridge to Chaotica

**Chapter 17: Bridge to Chaotica**

_"Release the Death Ray!"_

_A maniacal voice laughed as the young Earthling rushed to the center of the cockpit of his rocket ship, his ship shuttering as it was hit. His rocket ship had already been thrown off course trying to avoid the Chaotica Space Forces, and now it was being hammered from the seemingly all reaching Death Ray of the Tower of Doom. A young woman screamed as they kept moving, with every shot she was screaming. It was very annoying, but she was a good looking dame, and he had more than enough to keep him occupied at the moment._

_"Are you really sure attacking the Tower of Doom is really the best plan?" a young Asian asked from the periscope, one eye all but jammed into the viewing scope._

_"We've got to defeat Chaotica or else he'll unleash an attack upon Earth that will destroy Earth," he said, using dials to adjust the flight of the rocket ship in a pattern to confuse both the fortress ahead and the fleet pursuing them, "Just hang on a second Buster!"_

_"You're a madman Captain Proton!" he exclaimed as Captain Proton tilted his nose towards a set of cliffs and fired off the afterburners._

"That's all I can remember," the Terran said, sitting in a counselors office onboard the medical transport _Yellowstone_ as it traveled through the middle of what had been the battlefield of Memory Alpha. Here, the Gorn and Imperial fleets had clashed, only to be summarilly annihlated by the _Scorpion_ as that renegade ship was being called.

"It's surprising that the medications have not increased your ability to get more into your memories before you woke up in the military hospital on Bajor," the Counselor, a Human with wavy white hair said, writing in a data PADD, "Only this...holodeck program. I mean, it's been three months since you were brought to this ship after being released from the triage there on Bajor. You really do not remember anything else."

"No," the reply came quickly, as though rehearsed.

"Not mother or father?" he asked, pressing to get more information. Well, more results than information. "Not friends? Not favorite color, not favorite foods?"

The patient looked down at the carpeted floor, which was supposed to be mentally soothing. There were many patterns in it, not the same pattern, a sea of chaos. But it all seemed to lead somewhere. Some point that was the calm in the storm. But he had not found it. Not in the three sessions per week for three months.

"I draw a blank," he said, reaching a hand up and scratching at the back of his head.

"Come on now," the man said, his eyes not leaving his pad, "You must remember _something_. Like why you'd be doing something so ridiculous as that program. Who was Buster? Who was the pathetic screaming woman? Search! Search your mind. You know more than you are willing to admit."

"No d-it!" the patient snapped, pounding his fist on the table in front of him, the glass cracking on impact. "Shouldn't you be able to know who I am?"

The man shook his head. "Your records have been deleted, if they had ever been there," he said, "As I've repeatedly told you."

The patient angrily dropped his head down and placed both hand over his head and laced his fingers. Why couldn't he remember anything else? Why was no one able to figure out who he was? Was he never going to figure out who he was? The counselor watched him with no small amount of pity.

"I think our session is done for the day," he said, standing up and patting the young man on the shoulder, "You never know. This might be the breakthrough you need to get the rest of your memories. Keep trying."

"Fine," he said, standing up and leaving the counselor by himself.

The counselor stood there and watched him go, closing the door to the office behind him as he went. After he sulked out of the room, the counselor walked over to the wall. Tapping the Padd against his palm, he nodded to himself. He pushed a few buttons and the panel dissolved to show a computer terminal. The screen was filled with an image of blackness.

"_Report_," a computerized distorted voice ordered.

"P is beginning to remember none essential items," he said.

"_Is the Alphabet at risk?_"

"I highly doubt it," he replied.

"_The Capitol Letter will not allow P to put the whole Alphabet at risk_," the voice warned him, "_If needs be, erase P from the sentence_."

He nodded his understanding and the communications terminated. He held up the PADD and pushed the off button, turning off the very detailed profile that had been displayed before him.

* * *

Riker stood on top of the Imperial Palace. No guards, no attendants. Only his wife, Deanna stood at his side. She stood in her nightgown, as ordered by her husband. Her Imzadi had not wanted her dressed in regular clothing as they stood out there. Her flesh was cold, as the temperature was only forty this night. She didn't know, but he had installed in her nightgown a device that would actually make any night twenty degrees more chillier.

Night had fallen over the European Continent, and it seemed fitting to the setting. She looked nervously at the man of all her affection. He had been in a fey mood for nearly three weeks since he had ordered Shinzon to attack the combatants around Delta Vega. He had sent the_ Scimitar_, as that ship was really called and not the preferred _Scorpion_ name that had been bestowed upon it, on three different missions. There was an estimated 300,000 losses to this ship alone. The Empire could not sustain many more casualties of this nature.

"You know what I see when I see the stars?" he asked.

"No, my lord," she whispered, afraid to speak louder than that. Her body shivered in the cold.

"My Empire," he said, "Far flung among every stars of the galaxy. I will become an Emperor greater than anything ever seen before. I will rebuild the galaxy in my image. And anything that doesn't have my countenance in his image will be swept away."

"Of course, my lord," she said, "Your will be done."

"Yes," he growled, he hand reaching up around the back of her neck and slightly trembling, "My will shall be done. As now shall it be done. Come and give me a good performance."

"My lord?" she asked, "I do not understand."

He pushed a button on his hand with his chin, she not having seen his hand move up to his face. A bright light sprang in her eyes and the sound of sparkling particles. A few seconds passed, and next she knew, she was standing in middle of a massive chamber. Tens of thousands of men from every race stood in the stadiums, cheering and applauding. She had no idea where she was, but a massive spotlight shined down upon her, but it didn't blind her.

On a grand stand sat the Emperor in a throned chair. He held up his hand and his subjects were silent.

"Behold your queen," he said, his voice booming across the stadium, "Behold her beauty. Is she not the greatest prize a man can have?"

There were screams and cheers of approval, and quiet a few jeers being thrown her direction. She had no idea what the whole point of this was. Was he trying to show what a find she was? What a beauty she was? If that was the case, then perhaps he was actually regaining some of his sense.

"But wait," he said, the voices growing silent, "Is it possible to see all her beauty? No, I say. Do you wish to see all her beauty?"

Cheers and chanting broke out. "YES! YES! YES!" Then, with the sound of a horn, four chains shot forth and wrapped around her wrists and ankles, and a force field was erected around her. Not only could she not move because of the chains, but also the force field. And a burning sensation rushed around her. She screamed in fright and pain.

* * *

Hours later, she remained standing in the force field. She had been abandoned here by all, but not before they were able to jeer at her. Her clothing had been dissolved, and she stood alone, her nakedness exposed before all. But now, she was alone, her whole body and her already precarious mental and emotional state hurting. There was no one at all. She had been exposed and humiliated before an entire assemblage, and she knew that there had been cameras.

Tears streamed down her face. There was no way she could outlive this. She would go insane. Her Imzadi had left her! Why? With her unborn child! What about his royal bloodline? Did that mean nothing to him anymore? He loved her! She knew it.

There was the sound of a door opening and the sound of footsteps running. She closed her eyes, unable to look anymore upon anyone. Why had he left her? Why?

The footsteps grew closer and then slowed to a stop. The force field deactivated, and she swayed forward, falling forwards. A pair of arms grabbed her by the shoulder, slowly helping her down. There was the sound of phaser fire.

"C-c-councilor," a voice stammered, "I-I couldn't be-believe what I saw. How hu-m-miliating it mu-st have been. Come n-now. I...ll take care of you."

She fell asleep, tears pouring down her face as she was carried from the stadium. The lanky man walked up to another Human, a much younger male. He nodded to him.

"This is a mistake," the man hissed angrily, a black trade blaster in his hand, "We've done well for ourselves, Reg. Why do you want to attract attention to us by bringing along the Empress of the whole go-ram Empire?"

"Because," the man said, his stammering dropping in the presence of someone he was more comfortable with. "I am her friend. I assume that the almighty Wesley Crusher wouldn't understand that. Not since you got kicked out of the Academy and escaped the firing squad."

"D-n you Reginald," he hissed, following him into dark alleyways that would lead to their stolen Suliban stealth ship, "You'll get us all killed!"

"Shut up, Wesley," Reginald Barclay snapped.


	19. Round the Bloody Mill Stone

**Chapter 18: Round the Bloody Mill Stone**

"We've got two incoming!"

_There's actually three,_ the First thought angrily to himself, as yet another couple of tentacles rushed forward to grab them and hold them tighter.

"Fire weapons!" he shouted, but he watched as the plasma shots were simply absorbed by the bolts. He was in command of the bridge, and he was getting anxious as the whole bridge was beginning to flicker. Sections of the bridge were beginning to glow a sickly color, and the Jem'Hadar engineers were working as fast as they could to dissolve and replace the damaged sections.

"We've got intruders in the corridors!" the Second announced, and firing could be heard as Jem'Hadar in the corridors fought to put down these attackers. But with a swift flurry of cries and screams, the corridors became silent.

"Victory is life!" he shouted as the door slowly began to open.

* * *

The shout came just moments before the Borg drones beamed into the Engineering section of the Dominion warship. Jem'Hadar plasma fire criss-crossed, slamming into one Borg drone, who fell, sparks leaping out of it's damaged chest and spine sections of it's exoskeleton. Three more beamed onboard, right behind the Vorta in charge of the ship, who had run down to help them contain a conduit explosion. He made to run, but a strong hair of hands gripped his shoulder, holding him in place.

"Help!" he screamed, and one of the Jem'Hadar turned to him, raising his rifle. He collapsed as the Borg he had been facing turned and with a fast swing broke his neck. At the same time, the Vorta collapsed as two small tubules sliced through his neck, delivering about a dozen nano-probes that began multiplying and assimilating him.

The drone that had broke the neck of the one Jem'Hadar continued towards the warp core, only to fall flatly on his back as a shot hit him square in the forehead. The six Jem'Hadar in the engine room opened fire on the three remaining drones. Green shields engulfed the Borg, who had adapted to the weapons fire. One drone spotted a console near the wall, and advancing towards it, raised his wrist and it's assimilation tubules shot forth, merging with the console.

Seeing their fire was having no effect, the Jem'Hadar charged, firing as they ran around the warp core. The first Jem'Hadar fell as he tripped over the body of one of the dead drones, but the rest pushed forward. Crashing into the drones, they used the weight of the bodies to push on of them to the ground, and with a flurry of smashes broke the eyepiece and skull of one of the drones.

The other drone was being attacked by two of them, and it up cut with his slashing blade attached to where his right hand was. One of them collapsed, blood and guts spilling all over the deck. The other Jem'Hadar stabbed the drone through the gut, right as it stabbed at him. He ducked the bladed weapon with skill and speed and pulling the blade of the knife attached to rifle out, again stabbed the drone, this time through where the heart of the particular species this drone had come from. The drone dropped without a fight.

"See to the Vorta," the Third ordered, for he was in charge of this section of the ship.

Two of this soldiers rushed to see the Vorta, who was already changing. Implants were erupting all over his body, and his swung wildly.

"He's gone," one of them said, watching as tubules were forming on his wrists. "What shall we do?"

The Third stepped over, raised his rifle and fired a round through the Vorta's head, killing him instantly. He pointed to the panel that was now glowing in a sickly green hue, looking more Borg than Dominion in design.

"See if you can remove that," he ordered, "The rest of you, dispose of the drone bodies. We don't know what they can do."

"But the Starfleet officers said they become inert when deactivated," the Sixth said, who had asked about what to do with the Vorta.

"Yes," the Third said, "but that's when their deactivated. They said nothing about when they are dead."

"No!" shouted one of the Jem'Hadar, as the panel shot forth tubules and began to assimilate him.

* * *

"Don't give up!" Ross shouted, as yet another of the Empire's ship, the _Constellation_-class _Zephram Cochraine _exploded, the pieces of the hull tearing apart in a flame of glory. They had hunted down the last Borg vessel over Tallus VII, where it had already assimilated a billion civilians. He had sent the _White Skins_ and the _Legendary Spyro_ to attack the cities already assimilated, and casualty reports were up in the six hundred million casualties.

But he didn't have time to think about that now. The Borg cube was spinning in place, moving back and forth. It would rush as close as it could to a ship, and reaching with tentacles from the ship, wrap themselves around the ship and draw them inside. He had seen a Jem'Hadar Attack ship only ten minutes before being sucked in.

Several ships had rammed the Borg cube, but it had done little to slow it down, swiftly repairing itself. Even the Dominion forces were having a hard time. Ships that were sucked into the cube were destroyed. It wasn't getting any easier, especially at the rate they were losing ships.

"_Hartman to Ross."_

"Yes?" he asked, teeth gritted as his ship shook from the impact of a Borg plasma weapon, "Bring up to coordinates 7.0.1. That'll throw them off."

"_The strike team is ready."_

"About d-n time!" Ross growled, as inertial dampeners took a hit and suddenly they could feel every a little bit of every movement of the ship, "All ships! Concentrate all fire at sections A-1 of the Borg Cube."

At that moment seventy ships (a pitiful amount compared to the behemoths that had duked it out not more then two months ago, launched every weapon they had at the Borg cube. Both Dominion plasma bolts and Starfleet phasers and photon torpedoes. The splashing effect of multiple hits could be seen, until with a suddenness that could catch anyone by surprise, the shields failed and the fire began to slam into the Borg hull, pieces tearing away with plumes of fiery explosion. Each torpedo sliced their way through space, every volley growing more and more intense.

* * *

"Go! Go! Go!" Hatman shouted, the Commando Strike team of black robed invisibility cloaked warriors rushing around her, shimmering as they ran. The corridors of the Borg cube were tight, and as they ran, they were corralled into spaces where only one man at a time could run. She was running to keep up, her hand thumb stroking the edge of the assault rifle she carried. She really wasn't a fan of confined spaces, but almost the enter group was male, and the thought of so much testostorone at her disposal would have made her grin at any other time. But not now.

The lead man turned, and seeing three Borg drones at a station, fired a wide beam. The beam struck all three drones at once, causing massive explosions to erupt from their exoskeletons. The beam continued into the console, shorting out the lighting in the area. At the same time, the rear-guard trooper fired off a succession of rapid shots, taking down four drones.

_D-n_, she thought to herself, bumping into the soldier in-front of her, nearly causing her to fire off her weapon. There was no way she'd be able to see in the dark like this.

"Night-vision goggles on!" she barked, and she could see hands reaching up to press the side of their helmets. These suits were practically Borg proof, as they were strong enough that Borg assimilation tubules couldn't breach it. But, that didn't stop Borg weapons fire. Or a sturdy hit to the face.

"Into this room," the point man shouted, waving his hand. The group turned and following the corridor of red light created by their goggles, entered a massive room. There was a massive cube in center of the room, throbbing with sickly green light. This was the nerve center of the Cube, where the mind of the Collective spoke to each and every drone. There wasn't any drones there, probably rushing off to repair damage to the cube. The sounds of continuous strikes to the cube could be heard.

"Set the charges," she ordered, holstering the weapon up, "Set charges...there...and there...and there."

"Alright," a Bolian engineer said, rushing forward to set up the charges. Just then, all the night vision goggles shut off. Hatman pounded the side of her helmet, trying to beat it into working. There was only complete and utter darkness.

"Turn on your rifle lights," she ordered, and proceeded to follow her own order, by pushing the button at the side of the rifle. And...nothing happened. Several times she pushed it, but to no effect.

"Someone get a light turned on," she ordered, "We need to see what we're doing. I want in and out of this f-king cube as fast as we can."

A single red light shone out in the darkness, and she smiled in annoyance. Were they really trying to test her patience? This was already a stressful situation as it was. The light was shaking in the dark, the hand of the user unsteady.

"Whoever turned that light on," she called out, "I'll give you points at being a complete a-hole. Now, get some more lights turned on."

There was some mutterings among the commando strike team, no one seeming sure who turned on the light. She looked around, the light not turning brighter. What the h-l was wrong with this soldier? Who was he? There was a yelp as someone smacked into the cube nerve center.

"Who ever turned that light on, better speak up now," she demanded, not liking this one bit, "Or at least turn on more lights."

A second red laser light turned on. And then another. And another. And another. And another. Within a few seconds, thirty lights turned on, and a robotic stomp, stomp, stomp could be heard. There was suddenly screams of rage as phaser fire erupted. The room began to light up, but they were lit just as intensely by the green shields that immediately began to encase the Borg drones. They had already adapted, and dozens more lights were turning on.

"Bladed weapons!" she yelled, and there was a scream and the sound of something breaking. SHe drew her own bladed weapon of choice, a single headed Cardassian axe. And she awaited the onslaught.


	20. The Long Call of Home

**Chapter 19: The Long Call of Home**

Mallor stood in front of the assemblage of Captains and Admirals gathered before her. Seventy had headed her call. Those who had always been loyal to her. Those who had been able to be bought. Those who wanted to see an end to the despotism of William T. Riker. And those who simply were lost and wanted an end to the continuous fighting that was tearing the quadrant apart.

"Gentlemen, ladies, Captains, Admirals," she said. She had never been one for grand speeches, but this might be an appropriate time for one. "I stand before you, not as Empress to her subjects. Not even as a superior to an underling. I stand before you as the one thing that binds us all together. As a citizen of the Empire."

She watched the room, gauging the reactions of the officers. Usually she had a bunch of Imperial Shadow Guards nearby, but the closest thing she had was a member of Maxwell's bodyguards. A Tellarite of all things. She almost snorted at the idea. Tellarites at best could be used to block an assassins blade with their own massive frames.

"I have loved the Terran Empire," she said, her voice projected through speakers all over the room, "My mother was a worthy Empress. She was worshiped like none have dared since Spock the Peaceful. I had hoped we could have had peace. Even when the Cardassians killed my mother and we sallied forth to a war of conquest, I had hoped for the best. But no. We have been invaded. And I was put out of commission during the earliest stages of the current Dominion conflict. Then, like that, a Captain, a nobody with delusions of grandeur swept in an overthrew my government. He supplanted me with his own self. And that man has became mad with his own power, and his madness is warping our Empire."

Massive projections on the walls showed the multiple wars of Riker. Ships blowing up. Black robed Hirogen running enemies of the State (aka him) to the ground, where they were butchered. An internal camera showed him slashing off the ear of a Romulan scientist. Video played of his humiliation of his Queen. These were punctuated by the massive windows in the wall that shone the binary suns of the world as they began their descent into the northern hemisphere of this world.

"He has even impregnated me," she said, the bulge in her belly prominent in her third month of pregnancy. "The Empire is on the verge of collapse. Our military has been shattered. Our people starving from neglect. If we are to save our Empire, the time must be now! Long Live the Empire!"

"Long Live the Empire!" the officers shouted in unison.

She held up her hand, "Go to your ships," she commanded. "We go on the offensive tomorrow."

The group began to move towards the transporter pads, where they'd get transported back up to their ships. She smiled to herself. At last, she was on her way to get her empire back. Maxwell was standing behind her. Whistling that forsaken song!

"Are you ready to return to the ship?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I think so."

Maxwell tapped his comm-badge. "Maxwell to _Rutledge._ Five to beam up."

"_Sorry sir!_" the distressed voice of his second came back, "_We're under attack! We can't drop shields to beam you up!_"

"What do you mean you're under attack?" he demanded, "Whose attacking you?"

"_It looks like the entire armada for the inner worlds!_" the second said, his comm-channel breaking up, "_We've lost most of our weapons and impulse is gone. Heavy casualties. We-_"

The voice cut off and Mallor turned to look in astonishment to Maxwell. His usually stoic face was completely shocked, his eyes wide.

"How did they find us?" she demanded, "Who betrayed us?"

"Empress!" a voice shouted, and she turned to see Admiral Nechyev, who had recently pledged her seven ships that remained of her fleet to her, running from the transporter room, "Empress! None of us are getting out of here!"

"What do you mean?" she asked, walking towards her, Maxwell and the guards following.

"The transporters aren't working," she explained, "Must be some transporter dampeners."

"We've got to figure out where to go," Mallor said, "Before it's too-"

The room began to shake, and soon the very bones of each person seemed to be shaking. They turned around, some thinking it was an earthquake. But, the room began to darken and they turned to the windows. Outside were Drones, single man planetary fighters that could penetrate walls with ease. Each of the ten windows were blocked and she looked up to see one pointing through the skylight, moving into position.

"Clear the room!" she shouted, but the next thing she knew, red lasers began to shot through the room from all directions. Ten Captains and seven guards were killed with the first blast, bodies flying as they were hit. Windows shattered and pieces of the masonry that made up the walls exploded outwards in an explosion of debris that covered the room, pieces slamming into people as they dove under cover.

A few people darted to the double doors, and opening them, were blasted away by phaser fire. Mallor fled to behind a table that had been upturned by the first shot from the down-facing ship above the building, that was swerving, raking the room and pinning people or killing them even as they tried to hid. She could look out and saw ground forces rushing towards the building through the doors.

"We've got incoming foot!" she shouted, pointing out the door.

"Get the door closed!" Maxwell shouted, and two guards rushed forward and grabbing the door handles, swung them shut. But even as the doors closed, phaser fire blew through there. One collapsed with a head wound. The other took multiple chest hits and staggering backwards, took a full shot from the ship hovering above.

She looked around and some of the guards and officers were firing up or through the windows with phasers. Too bad none of them had a phaser rifle though, she wished ruefully. That could make a ton of difference.

The door burst open, blasted away, and heavy riot-armored troops poured into the room. _They_ on the other hand had phaser rifles, and they began to tear apart the room with their own fire, dodging their own comrades fire to attack. Attacked from both without and within, anyone had their choice of people to fight. Maxwell and his guards opened fire and concentrated on a single riot-geared trooper. The woman flinched as she was driven back then collapsed as a guard that she had dropped earlier staggered up and using his sword stabbed her through the back. He was vaporized by the trooper behind him.

There was a series of explosions and screams and Mallor, pinned to the ground due to sheer desperation, watched as Maxwell and his guard was shredded by three way fire from the nearest three drones. She hurried across the floor, crawling as she went. Another trooper was sailing over her as a Klingon captain tossed him bodily through the air, and he crashed with a sickening thud. She dragged herself to Maxwell's side, and he was looking up at the roof, gasping for air.

"Emp-emp-emp," he gasped, feeling her hands as she cradled his dying body. The top of the podium they were behind erupted from fire but she didn't care. "I-I-I fail-fail..."

"Shhh," she pressed a finger against his lips, "You served me well. Sleep now, soldier of the Empire."

And with that, he died. Everything had fallen apart. And like this dead man in her arms, the Empire was dead too. She didn't even move when a trooper came up and with the butt of his rifle slammed it down hard on her head.

* * *

_"I love you."_

_The young soldier stood in a room of white. There was nothing on the walls. No pictures. No banners. No posters. Nothing to give this room any type of distinction. No personal touches._

_"Hello?" he asked, wondering if he had imagined it._

_"Tom, is that you?" a voice asked._

_He turned his head, and there was a woman in the back of the room, standing near the back door. She had long black hair and blue skin. She looked oddly familiar. But where was she from? Who was she?_

_"Hello," he said again, walking slowly towards her, "Who are you?"_

_"I thought you were dead," the woman said with a hint of relief, but suspicion set in, "No, this can't be. I'm dreaming."_

_"I don't know who you think I am," he said, getting closer to her, "Heck, I don't even know who I am. But I'm alive. And _I'm_ the one dreaming. So, you can leave if you want."_

_She looked at him, and he was convinced for a second she believe _she_ was the real and and _he_ wasn't. But he shook it aside. All dream people were like that. Just like one believe the reality of the dream was the real reality._

_"You sound, act and look like the man I loved," she said, "Tom Paris. A good man. Soldier of the Empire."_

_Tom...Tom...Tom. Kinda rang a bell._

_"Listen, lady," he said now standing a little above her, "If you aren't going to leave, at least tell me who you are. Who are you?" _

_She raised an eyebrow. "I'm Mallor," she said, "Empress of the Empire."_

_"And I'm supposed to be..." he hesitated, "what? Your lover or something?"_

_"Yeah," she said._

_"Forgive me for not believing you," he said, "But I highly doubt that."_

_She grabbed him in a big hug, and his eyes frowned. What was this all about._

_"I love you, Tom Paris."_

* * *

His head hit the door hard and he collapsed to the ground. The Doctor turned to him from the replicator, raising an eyebrow. The lieutenant rubbed his head.

"Are you alright son?" the older man asked.

"Yeah," he winced. He slowly pushed himself up and sat in the chair the Doctor usually sat in. "Just hurts like a son of a b-h."

The doctor nodded. "Okay." he said, turning back to the replicator and punching in commands.

_If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times. Toys aren't worth your time. - I thought you'd be glad, Dad. I'm in the Academy./We'll see when you get to be an officer, my boy. - You really are a cad, aren't you, Mr. Paris? - You've graduated top honors of your class Mr. Paris. What assignment would you like? - Welcome to the Special Operations of the Empire, Ensign. - Ummmm...those are my clothes./Of course they are./Why are you trying them on then?/Making sure nothings in them./Yeah...right. - Where would we live?/How about a house near a lake. In a forest. - Why can't someone else be Queen?/I can't just abandon my duties to the Empire./And what about your duties to your heart? To me? - Goodbye./Alright, but I love you Mallor. I'll get you back./Please don't make promises you can't keep./Do you love me?/Yes./Then I'll make sure of it. - I love you, Tom Paris./I love you Mallor. - We've been stuck on this planet for months. Why can't we take the fight to the Dominion?/Patience, Ensign Torres. We'll make the b-ds pay for ever setting foot in Terran Space. - Lieutenant. Lieutenant. Don't you die on me! Don't you die!_

A flood of memories hit him hard. It hurt just as bad as being hit and he groaned. His entire life flashed before him. Growing up. The Academy. Special Ops. Meeting Mallor. His love affair with her. Mission of the most classified information. They all flooded back in phrases and images. Section 31.

"Have this," the Doctor said, handing him a cup. "It'll help you."

He took the cup and a memory flashed in his mind. _Section 31 has plans on taking over the Empire, P. You're __footsteps are being dogged every step of the way. They know you'r relationship with the Empress and they will need to remove them to take it over. They'll provoke an attack from another power in the galaxy an create such a war that all the powers of the Alpha Quadrant will be in such disarray that when we finally win, which they'll ensure we'll win, all of them will be under a Terran Empire that stretches farther than ever before. And if they ever get a chance. They'll kill you._

_One of the Agents is a psychiatrist. His code name is D. If you ever are under his care, you'll need to act swiftly. Because if given a chance, he will kill you._

"Thanks Doc," he said, sipping from it. "I'm sure it'll help."

"It ought to," the Doctor said, sitting onto the chair and grabbing the PADD from the side table. "So, tell me, anything else you remember? Last time you talked about you remember liking the sea."

A warning voice told him not to say anything. "No," he shook his head, "Only what I've told you before."

"Pity," the doctor said, "Sea and holodeck games. A memory worthy of kings I'm sure."

"Yes," Tom Paris said. "It is."


End file.
